Arcanum
by littlefishh
Summary: Alistair sets out to find his lost Queen as Zevran shields her from the Crows; on her wild journey to find answers and solace, she finds the two relentlessly competing for her *questionably* captive affections-but neither know her secret. OC/Ali, OC/Zev
1. The Flying

**ARCANUM - littlefishh**

**Chapter One: The Flying**

It was a lovely morning in Denerim when Alistair woke—the birds were singing, the wind was sweeping lazily through the silk drapery over the windows, and he was alone.

_Hmm_.

Jenna did that to him sometimes. The nightmares and visions from the taint had stopped with the death of the archdemon, only to be replaced by dreams of the castle being stormed by invading qunari or wandering thoughts from the Fade; she took to pacing for a spell before she decided to simply begin her day early, leaving Alistair to wake alone and leave the bedchambers with ruffled hair, unsmoothed by her gentle touch.

He dressed himself lazily before kicking open the bedroom door to let the servants in to clean. He wandered through the kitchens and took a handful of biscuits and an apple for breakfast before alighting the stairs to the grand hall where the ministers idled when not employed with tasks. Jenna's handmaidens—what few there were—sometimes orbited the floor to flirt with the nobles at court. One such handmaiden, a particularly quiet one, stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking at him silently.

"Good morning, Kaira," he said brightly. "Have you seen Jenna this morning?"

"Was she not with you when you woke?" Kaira asked, lowering her eyes. "There is a message waiting for her at the gate, your Majesty."

"Message? From who?"

Kaira curtsied. "Antivan emissaries. I asked if they would like to speak to you or one of your consuls, but they said they would only speak with Queen Jenna directly."

This was truly puzzling. And suspicious. "And no one knows where she is?"

Again, a curtsy. "I have sent word to your companions in Denerim, as well as to the armorer and stable. They should be reporting soon—"

The doors to the main hall flew apart as a fully-armed qunari warrior burst into the chamber, closely flanked by a hulking stone golem. The usual.

His eyes had an unnatural molten look to them, one Alistair remembered fondly, as they usually meant the current battle would be over in short order from there. Now, to have those eyes turned upon him, he wasn't quite sure he liked them that much.

"Where is the High Lady?" His voice was grim and grinding, like sand pouring between rocks.

"Oh, um, hello Sten, we were just—"

Alistair suddenly noted that the front of his shirt was in the qunari's fists. The guards in the room had surrounded them, pikes pointed at the angry warrior, who narrowed his eyes. "If you have done something to the _kadan_…"

"Sten, I have no idea where she is—"

"Then we must find her!" He released Alistair roughly, and he smoothed his shirt, unhappy. The guards backed away cautiously, eye on the king in case Alistair felt like reacting. He usually never did.

"Relax, Sten, please—"

"Messengers from Antiva? The Queen gone? Her husband not worried?" His eyes cooled mildly, but he was still angry. "Something has happened, _vehl_."

"I'm getting onto that, in varying degrees of surprise," Alistair grunted. "And I _am_ worried, I just don't know what I should be worried about."

A metallic snarl sounded from outside of the hallway, followed by a maternal voice, "Shale, you really are too big for this hallway... the palace in general, really—"

"I believe I am making my way just fine—"

Shale's forehead connected with the wooden crossbeam of the hall's main portal and it splintered wildly, the guards nearest retreating slightly, whilst the golem seemed to ignore the bits of wood raining down around her.

"It called for us—we are here," she announced bluntly, and the silence that followed suggested she hadn't quite planned past those words. Alistair sighed, and whispered to Kaira, "How long have the messengers been here?"

"A little over four hours. I haven't been able to find her Majesty so I sent for them—"

"Four hours? Maker tell, what have they been doing?"

She shrugged, mouth awry. "Waiting, I suppose. The arls with estates in the city have offered them refuge, but they have been in the main foyer since they arrived."

"And they won't tell you anything?"

"Nothing, your Majesty, apart from their wishes to speak solely with Queen Jenna."

Alistair cursed under his breath. "Well, I suppose another hour wouldn't kill them." He now spoke loudly enough so that all could hear. "Lady Wynne and Sten, please follow me to a more private setting, and Shale… if you want to check on the Antivan messengers, that would be… very kind of you. Not that you're a particular fan of kind things, but I'd appreciate it."

Shale looked at Wynne, who started towards Alistair, leaning on Sten for support. At this, she turned around, and stomped out of the hall, ducking this time as she went through the door.

"Thank you, Sten, this is very kind of you," Wynne said, winking at Alistair as they ascended the stairs. The king walked just in front of them, his shoulders beginning to droop as he waved off pair after pair of palace guards. He wove through the maze of the castle's upper rooms, and finally stopped in a parlor to the left. It was a quaint place, fire blazing in the hearth, mantle set with fresh flowers in a smooth marble vase, and sparse lacquered furniture scattered precisely around the room. There were matching wooden hutches set side by side against one of the far walls with a pillar between them, upon which stood an empty crystal vase, so plain it almost stood out.

Sten and Wynne recognized it as one of Jenna's rooms instantly—it served a purpose in its quiet elegance, with a lingering feeling of sparkling laughter, hidden like glitter thrown just out of sight. Alistair walked straight to the set of hutches and they followed wordlessly, feeling his growing despair settling over them.

Within the glassed windows of the cabinets was an assortment of swords, knives, bows, and suits of leathers, Jenna's favourite armours. Alistair wrenched open one of the doors, and ran a finger over the neatly-oiled hardened leather of a shoulder pauldron; the design inscribed on the top was clearly Dalish and marred with scratches and discolourations that suggested it has seen a lot of wear. He smiled. "She liked this one, remember? This was the set that brought her around on leather armor, after she wouldn't let go of that ironbark breastplate when it was shattered by that Omega…"

Wynne nodded her head, chuckling. "I wish I could remember any part of that battle fondly… she lost the breastplate, Sten almost got _his_ armor burnt off, and you, Alistair, almost didn't fell the Omega in favour of running to Jenna…" She smiled brightly. "But we all lived to fight another day, Maker be praised."

Sten scanned the swords quickly, and pointed a finger at a gap between a vicious-looking wavy knife and a broadsword with a crackling shock rune. "One is missing."

They all huddled around the cabinet as Alistair opened it, thumbing the empty sword holder. Sten pointed again. "And this one here is gone."

Alistair wanted to announce that he couldn't believe it, but his eyes were not betraying him—two of Jenna's swords were gone. "But she didn't take two favourites… Starfang and Spellweaver…"

"Are we assuming the _kadan_ has taken them?"

"No one is stupid enough to steal from my wife, not just because she's the queen, but more because she killed an archdemon and lived to tell the tale." Alistair shook his head. "Only Jenna touches these, both by her request and mine."

"But, keeping our options open, any thief skilled enough to get past all the security and open the hutches—I'm assuming she put wards on them—would be able to handle the weapons, and therefore carry them off."

"But what are the chances she disappears at the same time as the swords?"

Wynne shrugged. "Slim to none, I suppose. But there's always the possibility."

"What used to be in this vase?"

Sten's voice made them both jump. Sten touched the lip of the crystal, and it sang quietly. "It is empty, but it must have had something in it. It is too empty to simply be as it is now."

Alistair's heart sank. "The rose I gave her… in camp, by Lake Calenhad…"

He choked for a moment, remembering.

"_I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, how could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness? I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't. The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So I've had it ever since."_

_Her eyes lit up quietly as she smiled. "That's a nice sentiment."_

_He looked at her nervously. "I thought that I might…give it to you, actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you."_

_ She looked surprised, more surprised than he had ever seen her. But it was a lovely expression that washed into an excitement she was very poor at hiding. "Why, Alistair… I don't know what to say…"_

_ "I guess it's a bit silly, isn't it?" he gushed. "I just thought, here I am doing all this complaining, and you haven't exactly been having a good time of it, yourself. You've had none of the good experience of being a Grey Warden since your Joining. Not a word of thanks or congratulations. It's all been death and fighting and tragedy."_

_ She smiled, laughing a little. "Well, I seem to be doing very well at that. Being bad at it wouldn't be doing us much good."_

_ He took her hand and gently placed the rose in it, lingering a moment to feel the warmth of her skin, still pink from where the gauntlets gripped her palms. "I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this…darkness."_

_ "Thank you, Alistair, I—" She was transfixed by it, much as he was when he first saw her. She straightened suddenly, smiling kindly. "It means a lot to me. As do you."_

_ "I'm glad you like it," he said, relieved. "Now, if we could move right on past this awkward and embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits, I'd appreciate it."_

_ Her laugh was the best thing he'd ever heard. "Sounds good. Off with the armor then."_

"She's running, Alistair," Wynne said grimly.

He snapped form the daydream sadly and sat down in a chair heavily, as if weighed down at the thought. "But why? And where?"

"I think one will lead you to the other," Sten said firmly. "She is a strong woman, but she is simple. It should not be hard to follow her."

"Are we following her now?" Alistair said, voice lifting. "But where are we going? And why did she go?"

Wynne shrugged. "She is traveling very lightly based on everything she left here to imply that she was not gone. She can't be very far, and she can't be risking much without all of her armaments. She is most likely traveling on major highways, perhaps with a caravan or bounty group."

"She's the Queen of Ferelden, she can't just blend in that easily!" Alistair exclaimed. "Her likeness has appeared on the gold piece, everyone knows who she is!"

"This is true," Sten admitted. "But are you going to wait here until rumors of her absence leave the palace and rumors of her fleeing the city enter it?"

"No, no, I'm going after her, that's not even a question," he said quickly. "I'm leaving as soon as we finish talking here—"

"Shale and I are ready to follow."

"My sword shall see to aid you, human King."

Alistair's mouth hung open. "Guys, I can't ask you to do this—for all I know, it might be something I have to do alone. As King, I can order you to stay back—"

"I am not bound by your 'national law'," Sten said through gritted teeth. "Your orders are words, nothing more."

Wynne shrugged in concession. "You would not hinder an old lady walking her path, would you?" She winked. "If the moment comes for you to go it alone, we'll understand."

Alistair threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine. But none of us can go anywhere until we know _where_ she is going, or at least probably where she is going. Any thoughts?"

Wynne's eyebrow cocked in thought. "Perhaps to Orlais, to see Leliana? Jenna always sought out advice from her previously; perhaps this trip is an exaggeration of that behaviour."

"The messengers were from Antiva—perhaps the Crows sent for her." Sten cracked his knuckles loudly. "One in particular."

"To do what? She's the Queen of Ferelden, not a mercenary for hire. Unless…" He blood froze at the thought. _Zevran_…

Wynne saw it in his face and dismissed it with a flick of her wrist. "Come now, let's be rational. We all travelled with her in the most desperate of times and she did not resort to that, even in the face of hopelessness. Why would she do that now, as queen of her country and wife to her true love?"

"She herself is not being rational," Sten grunted. "The Warden is not this finicky or flighty—that is Leliana's job."

"It's extremely unlike her," Alistair conceded. "She's left without me for bandit tours, but she's always sent word, and I was given at least a day's notice. I don't understand what would cause her to just…go…"

Wynne put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and squeezed, much as she used to do before Jenna twisted an arrow shaft from his arm. It hurt now, in a much different way. She sighed calmly. "Perhaps this is not you, Alistair. She was moments from death when she killed the archdemon. I have been worried that there was residual trauma that accompanied being that close to the destruction of such a force."

"But she could have _told_ me, I could have _helped_, we could have done it together!" Alistair put his head in his hands. "She's independent, but she doesn't like being…alone. I don't know," he huffed, shaking his head.

"Alistair, we are _all_ alone, truly," Wynne said, her expression sad.

Sten growled angrily. "We waste time with every moment we spend here grieving!" He turned to the cases of weapons. "Come, _vehl_, take up your sword. There is work still to be done, it seems."

Alistair rose, as if resisting against a million invisible hands, and opened the cabinet shining with swords. "I know. I know."

* * *

Jenna had sprinted for almost fifteen minutes once she left the sight of the gate sentries, letting the liberty of pure speed take her over and surround her, the adrenaline coursing through her body freely. At last she collapsed at the foot of an oak tree, limbs aching from the effort, Axel padding softly behind her. All she could think about was the distance between herself and the Wilds, and how it grew shorter with every step, every breath.

Word from Morrigan came by way of a raven last night, telling her to come to the Wilds and, once there, leave the road; while at first disheartening, as straying off the road in the Korcari Wilds was well-known suicide, she trusted Morrigan and her talents, and knew that Morrigan would know of her presence once she entered the forest. Beyond that, Jenna was thankful she had been able to contact her old friend through the Fade, and the relief had washed over her as soon as the bird came into view.

She went for her swords immediately, loading them into a leather-bound map canister and placing it beneath the foot of their bed in the palace. She picked the two lightest ones, identical blades of white steel with plain t-qrip hilts, and stroked her fine leathers lovingly, sad to leave them behind. While Alistair finished a political tour in the Alienage, she bathed in the bathhouse and wept, knowing it would take all of her strength to leave him in the night, no matter how she tried to rationalize it.

When she felt his grip on her waist loosen with sleep, she carefully rolled out of bed and pulled the canister from beneath it, slinging it over her shoulder. He did not move the entire time she crept about, even as she dressed in simple traveling leather and her worn pair of steel-toed boots, but sighed with a smile when she kissed him sadly on the forehead. She wanted to whisper to him of her love, but she couldn't bring herself to say such a thing when she planned to desert him entirely. It was a long set of moments before she was able to tear her eyes away from his sleeping form, from the strong arms and had held her through all the battles, the broad chest that she drew pictures on with her finger just after they made love, the scarred but beautiful skin that was always so warm, so comforting…

She cried as she left, turning down the hallways until she reached her sunroom, wondering how she had gotten turned about. The moonlight cast a silver stream of light on to the pedestal where the dried rose lay, swathed in fine Orlesian crystal. She smiled as the tears came, hearing his voice ring, "_I thought that I might…give it to you, actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you_."

She unsnapped the cover off her canister and gently slid the rose inside, positioning it at the bottom to avoid the blades. As she replaced the cover, she said quietly to herself, "I guess it's a bit silly, isn't it? Not a word of thanks or congratulations. Or goodbye."

She suddenly saw her mother's face in the glass when she looked up, and fled the room, keeping a steady pace as she left through the kitchens. Somewhere along the way, she coaxed Axel out of his crate with a piece of chicken bone, and the two left the city discreetly, the dawn still far off.

The last she had heard, sources pointed to Morrigan disappearing in the Frostbacks, far from the Korcari Wilds. Morrigan had always been a mystical thing, and meeting in the Wilds seemed perfectly in character. No doubt the apostate would scold her for blindly running away in to dangerous territory, but Jenna was just about out of common sense, and past that, there wasn't much else.

Axel had caught his breath and seemed panicked to get moving, not used to simply stopping after speeding along so suddenly. She hauled herself to her feet and walked about ten feet from the road, keeping as steady of a pace as possible. It was comforting to her that the promise of counsel was not far away, and that at last she would get to see her old friend again. But until then, the road was long and tough for the keeping, and she walked on, still flying.


	2. The Bridging

**ARCANUM - littlefishh**

**Chapter Two: The Bridging**

Word reached the Crows before the Antivan nobility knew—the monarchs of Ferelden had deserted the throne.

Zevran knew what this would mean to the Crows and what it would require him to do, despite his ties to the Queen of Ferelden and High Lady Jennalin Cousland, last teyrna of Highever. In fact, the others would see it as a way to further prove his loyalty to his homeland by assassinating his former lover. Zevran didn't quite know if he was ready for something so overtly traitorous to Jenna, for from the moment she broke his heart, he knew he would always—

_No. There is no place for such things in this life._

The world had changed since the end of the Blight, but Zevran felt that was especially true for him. The compassion and camaraderie Jenna had worked so hard to foster was fading; Leliana used to write regularly, but her letters came less frequently until they stopped altogether, and Wynne saw to it that Antivans were permitted to open a Circle Tower, but that had crumbled under the most recent political coup. Zevran used to have trusted lieutenants, ones he invested in emotionally, but all betrayed him to deadly results.

Still, he was not sure he possessed the wherewithal to order Jenna's death. Jenna came from a similar lifestyle as his, making friends with jealous contemporaries who might plot to overthrow her as mistress of the last two remaining teryns in Ferelden, but betrayal was still foreign to her. The thought that her companions might deceive her never crossed her mind, half out of ignorance and half out of trust. Jenna trusted others easily, but something about her bestowing such a thing on people brought out their honesty, their strength, and transformed them for the better. But even those effects faded, and Zevran could feel her slipping away as he saw her less and less.

He had every reason to feel nothing for her—she had Leliana spouting poetry and song in her name and Alistair could barely function in camp when she left him behind on a raid. At first, he was amused at the idea of being played and competing for her attention, but once it became apparent he was losing, the playful affection he felt for her richened and deepened, making the last stretch of the journey that much more painful.

The day of the Landsmeet was forever burned into his heart, what torn, bloodied remnants of it still worked, at least. When Alistair agreed to take the throne and pulled Jenna up as his queen, he swore to himself it was simply to displace Anora and not out of any real emotion—politics in Antiva were similarly cruel—but when the two of them approached everyone afterwards, hands clasped tightly and suppressed grins on their faces, he knew she really loved him.

That didn't absolve him of any feelings for her, but he cursed her endlessly for loving someone so stupidly stubborn and ignorant of life's meanness. He poured the rage into his knives and ripped through whatever evil things came at him. At Alistair's coronation, he wanted to do the same to her betrothed.

He was present when Alistair married her, but left before her coronation; he knew she wouldn't mind, as the crown meant much less to her, but she did write him a peculiarly short letter of thanks for his attendance at their wedding, signing it as 'Lady Jennaline of Ferelden'. She had always told him she wasn't a girl for titles, and he wasn't a man of friendly subterfuge—but people change.

He still had the pair of Dalish gloves she'd given him, glowing with joy before she'd even handed them over. She was always eager to please, eager to achieve, especially in terms of her friends. He found them in his bedside drawer, scattered amongst the hair ribbons of girls he'd taken in his bed since her. Of all the things in the drawer, he could only remember that the gloves were from her; the rest were just lost and found.

He pulled them on again, squeezing his hands into fists to hear the leather whine as it tightened. Oh, the battles those gloves had seen-even in the face of much better armor, he wore them always to make her happy, to see her smiling from across the battlefield when the dust was clear. She always sat with him around the fire as he oiled them at the end of the day, and they traded stories about Antiva and Highever, of fancy deceit and boring, expensive parties.

With the gloves came the Antivan boots she had found him, made of the most exquisite Antivan leather. It was the best present he had ever gotten, mostly because he tried them on immediately, kissed her, and found himself kicking them off not ten minutes later.

He sighed in spite of himself, knowing that assassination was far out of the question, but still part of the picture.

His knives were gleaming on the side table, the silverite calling to him quietly, and he knew that he must act before his lieutenants applied pressure to move. But what he was about to do, he was not entirely sure it was what anyone, including himself, would expect.

* * *

Leliana had bought an estate in Jader against her better judgment, but she rather disliked discretely moving parts of her massive fortune around the countryside, so she split it in half and bought one of the displaced chevalier's old hunting mansion and gardens. The rest of the money she saved, spending it on sparse luxuries, such as clothing and shoes. She figured it would be a fine place to entertain the royal family of Ferelden should they choose to take a secret vacation to see their old friend.

So when Leliana discovered that both Alistair _and_ Jenna had gone missing, she was quite upset that all her new space would be going to waste.

The adventurer in her told her to set out immediately and find them, wherever they were, but Jenna had instilled a sense of practicality in her than made her think twice. She couldn't even begin to guess what it would mean if the two left willingly…

It must be an assassination attempt. Her blood chilled and thickened at the thought.

That didn't seem right—Jenna had killed a dozen men with half a dozen arrows in her without any help, and delivered the final blow to the archdemon without so much as a bruise. There wouldn't be any fool in the world stupid enough to attempt to kill her, even if she hadn't seen battle in two months.

So why would she run? Why would Alistair let her?

Thinking of it in those terms, the idea occurred to her that perhaps Alistair was chasing her—but that didn't explain why she had left in the first place. Jenna was a very even-tempered person, and, while she enjoyed spontaneity, she didn't entertain it often. Everything about her was always about serenity, peace, and determination.

So getting up and running was far out of character.

Leliana got chills at the very thought of someone sneaking up on Jenna, however impossible that seemed, to carry her off or kill her; she was sure that if Jenna had been killed by an assassin, the poor fool would be paraded around the city square before being publicly tortured and executed for all of Jenna's grieving subjects to see. Alistair was a sweet and gentle man, but even Leliana could not imagine the damage such a thing out inflict upon his fragile heart—she didn't want to think of the violence he would order and grief he would suffer at the loss of his love.

Because no such news had reached her, she assumed the killer must have gotten away. She hated whoever it was, and found herself lunging out of her chair, fists balled and teeth bared, angry at the mere notion. Could it be true-?

She calmed herself with deep breaths and started towards the side door out of the south wing, following the stones leading to the stables. She would ride into town and visit the Chantry and pray for answers and protection. There was nothing else she could do, and, after all this time she had spent away from the religious life, she felt that a litany or two would ease her mind.

* * *

Jennalin Eleanor Cousland was not stupid enough to forgo the splendours of love in favour of some deluded notion of practicality in a time of war, though she often questioned the longevity of such a thing, especially with someone as flighty as Alistair.

After spending two months with him after the war, she wasn't completely sure she would have fallen in love with him if it hadn't been for the Blight. It seemed odd that something so full of death and destruction could bring about something so sweet and comforting, but the dark side was coming, and she wasn't excited to meet it. However, she was not foolish enough to simply run away, but she hoped Alistair might think so, even if that required him to have a low opinion of her, however heart-wrenching that may be.

With Alistair as king and her companions scattered as they returned to lives of their own, Jenna felt the comfort of their presence fade too quickly. In a week, they had been married and promptly deserted; it was too fast and too strange for Jenna, and it left her sleepless many a night. She only woke in terror of the silence closing in when Alistair was on hunting tours and left her to retire alone, without the comfort of his body beside her. On the nights her sleep left her, she would settle in to his body heat and let the tears come, confused.

The Grey Wardens wanted to appoint her Commander. She wasn't afraid or even adverse to it, but upon contemplation and the ever-telling voice of time, she knew her time and sanity were drawing to a fast-approaching close. What that close entailed and what she would face just before it—it the wake of its revelation, she decided to flee.

Running was not something Jenna was fond of, nor was it something she was especially proud of doing. It was also something she was new at, considering she'd been doing the chasing all else in her life. She figured that by knowing how to find someone, it would be easy to avoid them—she knew Alistair was coming.

Sometimes she wondered if he would ever think rationally before he snapped to the line. She knew he would simply wake up, see she was gone, panic, and come barreling into the Ferelden countryside looking for her. Wouldn't he think a little bit further, that maybe she didn't want to be found, or that they weren't meant to be?

That thought struck her hard in the heart and she stopped suddenly. Alistair had always been the best man he could be for her, and she was honored to have earned his trust and love. While she doubted the circumstances of their meeting, she wasn't entirely sure if she doubted their togetherness. He had taken on a commanding edge that she wasn't fond of, but without it, he wouldn't be able to rule the country. He had also asserted himself on several smaller issues that made her feel less and less like his captain and more of his wife—in a bad way.

But that was all perception, and hindsight is always 20-20. Jenna readjusted her swords, called to Axel, and hit the road with a renewed sense of fervor.

* * *

Morrigan was furious, to put it very, very lightly.

Jenna did always have a way of stumbling into success and, against all odds, actually managed to screw up an ancient magic ritual. Morrigan wanted to vehemently deny it as a success but, alas, it was Jenna who had what Morrigan wanted.

Morrigan wasn't quite sure what she was going to do with Jenna once she reached the Korcari Wilds. She had contemplated enthralling her instantly, killing her instantly, or simply deserting her and betting a larger bear that who would kill her first. Even though any of those things would be extremely difficult and ultimately fruitless, it could do something about Morrigan's unrestrained, ever-festering fury.

But for Jenna to actually acquire enough lyrium and stupidity to put herself in the Fade simply to contact her, Morrigan knew she would have to hear Jenna out in full. Jenna's existence in the Fade was almost as fluid as Alistair's family life, and she only managed to grab Morrigan's attention, tell her the ritual didn't work, and to send word for a rendezvous immediately. Morrigan could tell Jenna couldn't actually see anything in the Fade but was very aware of her being within it, indicative of novice lyrium work, and she decided to invite the queen to her homeland before Jenna turned to something even more ludicrous, such as setting her teryn ablaze to get Morrigan's attention.

Morrigan had doubts about the ritual's success after the battle, but wasn't sure what to make of her intuition. Now, with confirmation on Jenna's side—for it was the Lady of Highever herself who delivered the final blow—she was even more lost and more frustrated. Was her soul slowly being flayed alive? Was she turning into an archdemon? And she killed Alistair and raised him as a darkspawn?

She wished Jenna wouldn't get herself killed before she made it into the Wilds. Well, sort of, at least…


	3. The Dreaming

**ARCANUM - littlefishh**

**Chapter 3: The Dreaming**

Jenna had almost been too excited to sleep—she was about two miles into the Wilds and expecting Morrigan to pop up at any minute—but somehow, she managed to warm herself by the fire and settle into sleep.

She woke up in her wedding dress.

Jenna was happy to see it again, such a beautiful thing that it was, but couldn't remember packing all nine layers of it into her sword holster.

Come to think of it, that was gone, along with her leathers and Axel.

-and _he_ was standing in his full ceremonial regalia in a glade maybe forty yards off, flanked by Arl Eamon and the elder Chantry priestess, with a look of starstruck awe on his face, staring amazed back at her.

Her blood thickened and warmed at the sight of him, her heart throbbing to life at the chance to be reunited with him while her mind panicked, afraid of being seen. It was much too late, for he had that look in her eyes she had come to hope for in the thick of battle, when their eyes connected and he seemed to say, _fight on so we can spend another day together_.

People began to appear like mist, coming from nowhere and materializing in amorphous drops of colour shining through the Korcari vegetation, and she could make faces out of them—Leliana, with kind and mournful eyes fixed on her, Wynne's gentle smile reflecting in the light, Sten and Oghren at the back with their arms crossed, fighting to keep the blankness on their faces, and Zevran, in the front rows, dressed in fine Antivan leathers inscribed with gold. His eyes were just as beckoning as ever, electric in their life-likeness.

She felt herself begin to move amongst them, passing them all in their beaming silence, closer towards where he stood. She felt the tears start as she grew closer, able to see him in all of his beauty and strength, and suddenly feeling the panic give way to desperation and a powerful urge to run—to fly far away from him, where she couldn't possibly—

She passed Zevran and Leliana, one on either side of her, and heard them sigh. Leliana had let go of whatever jealousy that came with their love and accepted her feelings for what they were, but Zevran—his eyes, though warm and enticing, betrayed the expression he wore on his smooth face. He was crying.

Jenna wondered why she couldn't remember any of these details on the wedding day two months ago before she realized—she was dreaming.

She broke into tears helplessly as she stopped before him, heart breaking at her own madness. She was imagining it all.

He took her hand and helped her alight the small earthen altar, and squeezed both her hands once she stopped beside him. His smile was radiant, just like she remembered. _You look absolutely beautiful, Jenna. Just like you always do._

There was a soft humming noise rising from the crowds, but when she turned to look, they were melting away into the woods, and soon it was only he left with her, fingers still threaded through her own. He seemed to be regarding her in silent amazement, as if he couldn't believe she was really there.

By the Maker, he was beautiful…

The humming was growing louder and he too began to liquefy and disappear, fingers pulling gently out of her hands as he became flush with the surrounding trees. She found herself reaching for him as he went, crying quietly to him, "Alistair, please…"

_Now you know how it feels._

Axel barked loudly, snarling viciously to wake her from the nightmare, and she lurched straight up and scrambled to her feet. The black, charred remains of the fire shown it hadn't even smoldered for hours, and her swords were almost covered in leaves. A breeze was sweeping through the undergrowth and the air smelled thickly of rain.

She was once again in her hunting leathers. As she tried to reach for the memory of her dream, it seemed to evade her…

Axel whined and nudged her in the back roughly. She stood up and listened for something, anything, but all she could hear was the soft and distant shuffling of the wind through the leaves. Axel was tensed on all fours, nose twitching in silence.

"What is it, boy?" she whispered. He snorted back at her, as if to tell her to be quiet.

After the moment passed, he circled her once and sat down, cocking his head at her with sad eyes. She scratched his head and swung her swords up on her shoulder. "No worries, big guy. Let's go find Morrigan."

He trotted beside her after she kicked dirt over the fire and moved deeper into the woods, vigilant as ever.

* * *

Zevran kept a similar watch, only instead of it being over the queen, it was over one of her sleeping handmaidens, specifically the one who was particularly weak at keeping secrets from womanizing elves.

At least, that's how Zevran hoped he had come off; he wanted no memory of genuineness to remain with the little Kaira girl. Otherwise he would have to kill her, and he was trying to cover his trail as best he could. A dead body of one of the palace handmaidens in Denerim while Antivan messengers were in the palace wasn't exactly discrete.

He had taken a boat from Antiva City to Denerim, a small, razor-thin skip that sped through the water in no time at all. The availability of such a ship to him on short notice was one of the perks of being the leader of a very well connected group of assassins. Once he was inside the capital, he discovered the presence of several of his brothers within the palace district—most curious.

There were six of them—a full Crow assassination squad—all waiting for an audience with the queen. No doubt they knew the queen had fled shortly after their arrival; it was still possible that they had killed her and were simply waiting out the storm. But no one had turned up a body…in fact, no one was even admitting she was gone or even missing.

_Idiots_, he thought to himself.

He had watched one of the handmaidens repeatedly attempt to persuade the 'messengers' to take refuge at one of the many noble households who offered them lodging, only to be politely turned down every time. Many of the nobles at court seemed to pester her with questions, but she simply smiled coyly and bowed before excusing herself to her duties. When she wasn't speaking to the Crows, she was commanding the legion of palace servants, pacing the top tier of the palace throne room, or out in the market district placing orders for foodstuffs and other things her monarchs required at court.

He followed her back to the palace and patiently waited for her to emerge alone, this time in a simpler dress with her hair twisted back like a servant. She slipped into the palace district looking as plain as ever, and entered one of the lower-class taverns scattered at the foot of the palace.

Zevran took a back entrance to the same tavern and 'manually persuaded' one of the off-duty bartenders to let him use his uniform. He dragged one of the bag rags across his face to give him the sweaty look of a man long at work before stepping behind the bar.

He served up a fresh round of free ale to distract the patrons at the bartop and kept a watchful eye for the handmaiden, who was slowly walking between the tables, apparently inspecting each person briefly while shrugging off the catcalls of the drunkards around her. He waited until she finally came to the bar and laid down four silvers and said politely, "Something fine, please."

He selected a pink bottle of Orlesian wine and used it to cover a heavy does of mead at the bottom of the glass her poured her. She tasted it, winced slightly at the sharp alcohol, but her face softened as the wine's flavour warmed her tongue. "Thank you," she replied, and took a seat as Zevran swept the silvers into the bar's coffers.

"You're looking for someone, ain't you?" He diluted his Antivan accent with the flat tone of Ferelden's popular slang. "Been watching you check up on the whole place."

She took a larger sip with a similar set of expressions as it went down. "I suppose. I've been understaffed most of the day at work. I was wondering if any of them had skipped it in favour of a drink." She took another gulp. "Can't say I'd blame them."

"Where do you work?" he asked absent-mindedly, pretending to be interested in rearranging the mead buckets just beneath the bartop.

"Contractor for the palace. Never actually set foot in it, but do quite a bit of paperwork," she said, eyeing him judiciously. "Not exactly the most glamourous job."

She was smart enough to lie. Zevran smiled. "Yes, because keeping a bar full of sodding drunk men never ails the reputation."

She laughed, and offered her glass for another. "But you must see all sorts of glamourous people as a barkeep."

"At this joint, this close to the palace?" He shook his head and poured her another, this time with more mead. "Mostly palace guards and their servant mistresses, and the occasional lonely mercenary. Most foreigners avoid the palace."

"Tell me," she said, after throwing back the first half of her drink. "Have you seen a medium-sized man with a scruffy chin, broad shoulders, about this tall?" She held up a wavering hand as she finished her drink before scooping more coins out of her purse. "He's got pretty eyes, always making a joke, and real heavy on honeymead?"

_She's looking for Alistair._ His heart sped for a moment until he regained his composure, now overwhelmingly curious. _Is Alistair gone too?_

"I've seen him here a couple of times, but not tonight," Zevran said as he took her glass. "Are you sure you want another? I may have to stop you soon, to preserve your honor. Can't have palace affiliates wandering the streets drunk at this hour of the night."

"What hour?" she scoffed, pushing more silvers his way. "After the day I've had, you'd be cruel not to keep them coming."

"As you wish, milady," he said coyly, pouring her glasses with ever-increasing amounts of mead.

She told him a story about one of the guard-servant couples he had hinted at while he entertained her with impressions of some make-believe patrons he'd seen in his fictitious job. She put down another four of his concoctions, much to his surprise, and slowly began to lose precious control of her tongue. Zevran knew he was close, and decided to see if he was right.

"So my darling Kay, do tell," he said, faking tipsiness over a watered-down pint of ale, "who is that man you were looking for?"

She hiccupped and shook her head, batting her eyelashes at him. "Oh, I can't tell you that, sir."

He put on a impish grin. "What, was he a fancy prince-consort, or maybe a noble's rebel child? Or…" he feigned turning away to belch, which made her laugh, "maybe it was the kind himself."

"Oh, yes, you've caught me," she laughed. She put her chin on her hand. "And what's it to you, my dear?"

"Well, you could say I'm a might jealous," he said shyly, praying it worked.

Her expression changed, and she broke into a seductive smile, eyes now smoldering. Zevran tried to keep from celebrating outwardly. Conquests didn't used to be this easy, especially with—

"We can't have that, now can we?" She smiled as she got off the barstool. Zevran took a deep breath.

Now he lay beside her sleeping form, as she slept evenly beside him, tired from her recent adventure and overloaded by the alcohol. She was very pretty, but Zevran could see little else of beauty these days. Such things happen after a stone heart is warmed, broken, and the pieces asked to be turned back to stone. All good things he remembered of bedding a woman he had kept from _her_, during their heated but brief encounters during camp, and now, to even finish a session with anyone else, he had to summon up those terribly wonderful memories, when just her touch would send him spiraling into heaven—

But Kaira had been sweet. Even in the throes of her drunken pleasures, he had tried to keep herself from breaking, but she was falling prey to the finest, a patient upon the best surgeon's table. She told him everything: the queen was gone, with Alistair gone to find her. It was the love story he'd hoped to never hear.

But it was true then. The queen was alone and fairly unarmed, if she could ever be described as unarmed. There were dead fools who had banked on her being 'unarmed', and rightly so. She may be stupid to plunge off into the Ferelden countryside with minimum preparations, but she was just as dangerous. Even still, her likes of defeating a fully-armed and partially hardened Crow were slim.

The thrill of the kill was close. Sometimes he dreamed of killing her, of watching the life bleed out of her and feeling the love bleed out him as she went, much as it did with Rinna. Once she was dead, he felt empty, almost hungry, but that was much easier to deal with than being full to bursting.

He could see the vein along Kaira's neck pulsing as she slept, and he touched it softly, pretending it was hers. He imagined holding her as he cut her, struggling at first but once she felt the blood and pain, stilling, looking up at him with those haunting eyes, and at last being his. She would tell him she loved him and that she didn't understand, and he would do the same.

_I want my life back, my love. I must take yours._

The colour would leave her face slowly as she laboured to breathe, hands in his, tears coming now. She belonged to him in that moment, not to anyone else, just like she had in the moments after they made love in the grass on their travels. The feeling would never leave, wouldn't dissipate with the morning sun, she would leave this world with his permission, belonging to him permanently.

But that wasn't even what he wanted. He just wanted to feel her all across him again, indomitable, just being who she was. And she was a woman of strength and grace, and he wanted to spill it across him for the rest of his life.

_Be free._

He dressed himself wordlessly and departed out the back door as per usual, and left the city by daybreak, sad to leave the silent company of his brothers in the palace but feeling her draw closer with every step. He knew exactly where she was going—not to Leliana's or Highever, but to find the witch, who had last been seen in the Frostbacks. He knew Morrigan had something she wanted, and she wasn't going to stop until she found her.

Zevran knew what that felt like.


	4. The Remembering

**ARCANUM – littlefishh**

**Chapter 4: The Remembering**

Once again, Alistair found himself standing by a fire surrounded by several companions, thinking always of _her_.

It always seemed that when she was gone from camp, the life left everyone who stayed, like the laughter gone from a party. They all sulked around the fire and made sparse conversation, but they were only really themselves when she was around. She would return, haggard, tired, and bloodied up, and usually speak to each of them about the battle and divide out its spoils before retiring, but even knowing that she was close by was comforting.

Breaking camp and moving out on the road was the best, though. That was when everyone made jokes, and sometimes she would let Sten or Zevran lead to drift to the back just to hold his hand. He missed traveling about Ferelden, and wondered if it would still be the same if they all got together and did it again, this time without the Blight hanging over them. He knew she missed it too, and they often spent the few moments before sleep in the palace quizzing each other on details about their former companions.

Alistair didn't want to give up on any of those things happening again, especially falling asleep with her pulled across his chest in their huge, dove-down bed in the palace. It was one of the two things in his life he'd never forget—being chosen by Duncan to be recruited as a grey Warden at the Templar tournament, and being redeemed by her love. When Duncan died, he thought he saw his life for what it really was, but he was just lost, drowning in his own past and things he couldn't change. She had pulled him from the water and brought him back to life.

He felt like she had done that not just to him, but also to each of those they travelled with. Zevran had become less of a cold, mechanical assassin, Sten began to accept Ferelden ways as something new and different, Morrigan learned what having friends meant, and Leliana put her demon to rest—permanently.

Perhaps she was so good at it because she had to do it first to herself. Arl Howe, almost like an uncle to her, had betrayed her father and slaughtered her entire family before claiming Highever as his own. Alistair knew she bore the rage with the grief and was never truly rid of them until she sank her blades into Howe himself, but she knew what she had to do to get there, and how to make things work in the meantime. He still remembered her joy at seeing her brother Fergus at his coronation; the excitement washed over her like a first breath after months of being underwater. In that moment, everyone was free.

But now… Alistair could feel himself slipping under the surface again, almost in hopes to find her waiting for him on the bottom. She was a graceful and well put together woman, so for her to simply run meant she was breaking somehow. Something had happened and it had either scared her so much she simply lost her mind and fled, or she decided to leave him.

He was taking the Imperial Highway to Jader in Orlais to see Leliana. It was a stupid hunch, but he hoped that would be where she went to hide, as Highever would have sent word of her presence there. Fergus was the acting teryn and had her same balked stubbornness and would certainly cover for her, but guards still have eyes, ears and very loud, sometimes paid to be open mouths.

He prayed from the depths of his very soul that she wasn't going to see Zevran in Antiva. While she had publicly chosen him over the assassin and Zevran claimed to have come to terms with it, Alistair knew the elf would accept her back into his arms wordlessly should she choose to desert her king. Alistair could eventually handle her disappearing, but not her being with him. All the assassin wanted out of life was pleasure and fame, none of which would make her happy, at least for very long. Alistair just wanted to give her everything he could to make her happy, truly, deeply happy, and live his life with her for as long as the taint allowed.

He wondered what role the taint was playing in all of this. He hoped the nightmares hadn't been bad enough to drive her crazy, but he felt he would have been able to see that coming, regardless of any of her secrecy. Perhaps it was calling to her, somehow? Beckoning her to go somewhere, somewhere she wouldn't return—

He suddenly jumped to his feet so fast, Wynne dropped the stirring spoon in the stew. She gasped and put a hand on her chest to calm herself. "Maker's breath, my lord, what is it?"

"You don't think she's going to the Deep Roads, do you?" His voice was cracking with panic.

"Why would she?" Sten grumbled, reaching into the boiling stew to fetch the spoon without flinching.

"All Grey Wardens venture there to die," Shale's metallic voice echoed. "The taint calls to them, and they give their lives in sacrifice fighting the darkspawn."

Wynne visibly relaxed, sighing as she fanned herself. "Really, Alistair. She is five years younger than you and was recruited months after you. Wouldn't you feel it first?"

"No one outlined a timeline for this sort of thing," he said miserably. "I'm sure it varies for each person. Maybe because she was the one to kill the archdemon, the taint has called for her…"

"Don't be ridiculous, Alistair," Wynne scolded. "You don't just wake up one day and feel it calling. She would have told you—you're the only other one who would understand."

"Well, she's not actually acting in character, is she?" he spat. Upon seeing her face and hearing the sound of his acid voice, he thumped down on one of the logs they'd pulled up around the fire. "I'm sorry, I just…I just want to know…"

It surprised him when he saw Sten's hand on his shoulder and not Wynne's. The qunari. "We will find the _kadan_. I swear by the Qun I will see you to her."

Alistair chose to let those words comfort him as he tried to enjoy supper with his old friends, but it just wasn't the same without his favourite by his side.

* * *

Oghren kicked the foot of Jenna's statue so hard, he split his steel-toed boot in half.

After the pain subsided and he had managed to wrench the boot off, he cursed at her likeness until his mouth ran dry. He had never been so disappointed in someone destined for greatness since his Branka, and he had almost considered forgiving the female race until Jenna decided to run.

"You're a sodding _fool_," he cursed one last time, before returning to the barracks.

Jenna and Alistair had disappeared, and the Antivan emissaries finally left, espousing their extreme displeasure of being neglected by Ferelden's missing monarchs to any who would listen. A panic was rising in Denerim, and a riot had broken out at the foot of the Grey Warden monument. As a general in Denerim's forces, he of course jumped in and squashed the riot as soon as he could, but there were smaller fights breaking out elsewhere in the city, and the nobles were getting nervous.

That's when that liar and traitor Anora volunteered herself as regent, and was approved by the majority of court. Anora ordered military rule within the city until a conclusion was reached about the whereabouts of Ferelden's monarchs. Oghren wished Alistair and Jenna had harder hearts and hadn't let Anora be a lower advisor to the throne. If she was rotting in a jail cell, she couldn't be garnering political support for her bid to the currently empty throne.

Luckily, Arl Eamon was holding any thoughts of appointing a new king or queen at bay. But Oghren didn't trust Anora worth a sodding anvil and knew she was planning something. It was only a matter of time before the nobility got used to her running things and she got too comfortable with the power.

Oghren didn't blame Alistair for following her—the king was doing exactly what he did when Branka disappeared by following his stupid, foolish heart, even if he knew it was stupid and foolish. But Branka had been crazy, so consumed with her own obsessions that she changed, and when Oghren finally found her, she was a mere husk of who she once was. He could only hope Alistair would be lucky enough to find the same person he left looking for.

"You were a real gift, Warden," he muttered to himself. "Too good to be true, just like I sodding thought."

When he reached his office, he noticed the secretary had recently dropped off a fresh load of paperwork, which Oghren promptly smashed off his desk, still furious at the news. He sank into his chair, hands massaging his temples, trying to fend off the waxing urge to enter a bloody fury.

What did Jenna do when she had problems with Alistair at camp? He strained to remember, as many of those times were spent in a drunken or post-drunken stupor, but he could still remember when everyone was on edge because someone was bickering. Usually Jenna and Alistair fought about where to go next and which Grey Warden was in charge. While he sulked by the fire, she and Leliana would take walking tours around the camp as they did their watch rounds, talking about such things until very late in the night. Occasionally, the two would spend the night together, chattering quietly to themselves whilst the others slept. If she was doing the same thing now, she was causing a great deal more trouble than it was worth and Oghren would see to it she knew that.

He fished for a blank piece of paper amongst the ramparts and found a quill and ink in the top draw of his desk, and began to quickly pen a letter to Leliana:

_L—_

_ Jenna is gone, sodding vanished five days ago. Alistair left to find her, can't blame him. If she comes your way, keep her put and send word. Anora is starting to take over here and we need those nug humpers on this side of things. _

_ Be safe, friend._

_ -Oghren_

He wrapped it and sealed it before stalking off to find a messenger with a decent horse. If something was going to go right, it was him sending word to Leliana. The rest, it seemed, had been lost.

* * *

Zevran remembered seeing her sink to her knees once she left the corridor where her and Alistair's rooms were, and it was a sight he had never seen before, even in battle.

It was not uncommon for her to leave the battlefield with six plus arrows in her as she cracked a joke. She had even taken a sword to the stomach and still had something sarcastic to say about it. So when Zevran saw her, at her full best with not a mark upon her, grip the doorframe and melt to the floor, fear seized him so fiercely he thought he might have been stabbed in the back.

But it was _she_ who had been subtly betrayed. He ran to her, cradling her in his arms as she sobbed wordlessly before finally confessing to what was conspiring in the chambers behind her. The ritual—something so gross and wrong only Morrigan could have thought it up—had her breaking to pieces imagining Alistair with that…that _thing_.

"Oh, Zevran, I could hear him," she mumbled, punctuated by sobs. "He was making the same sounds has when he was being hurt in battle, but then…then it changed, and he got quieter, until I could…I could hear them," she whispered, "being _together_."

"It is for your own sake, my lady," he said, trying to comfort her with his soothing voice and a massaging hand on her back. "If not for this, we would be losing you."

"I know," she managed to slip through her tears. "But ever since he told me…told me he was in love with me…just picturing him with anyone breaks my heart. And now he's—he's…with _her_."

"He is saving your life, Jenna, something which is never without consequence," he replied, brushing hair out of her eyes and thumbing a tear off her cheek. "I can assure you, he is far to smitten with you to be enjoying any of it."

"I…just…I wanted to be able to say we had been…always faithful to each other…"

Zevran snorted. "And what does that amount to, bragging rights?" He rocked her gently. "If you know it is true in your heart, then you will not need to say anything at all."

She began to calm herself by counting under her breath like she always did, and shoved the tears from her face roughly before putting a hand on Zevran's cheek. Her eyes were dark with sadness. "Oh, Zevran, I was so cruel to you, being with Alistair when you and I were—"

He put a finger to her lips to stop her, but she pulled it away. "I'm sorry for what I did to you, Zevran. I should have told you everything…now I know what you must have felt."

He replaced his finger with his lips, unable to restrain himself. She tasted of salt and weakness—delicious to him—but he let the moment pass before helping her to her feet. She blushed quietly as she retreated to her room, sure to shut and lock the door tightly to prevent any wandering ritualists from attempting to sleep there.

_You know nothing of that kind of pain, my love._ For Alistair had not invested anything in Morrigan, while Zevran—he had given up far too much to turn back now.


	5. The Breaking

**ARCANUM: littlefishh**

**Chapter 5: The Breaking**

The Frostbacks had never been as cold as Alistair expected, but they were always full of surprises, some less pleasant that others, and the reminder that the last time he came here, he was also alone. Sure, he was with Wynne and Sten and the whole gang, but by the time they all came here set for Orzammar, he could only think of _her_.

It had taken them a fortnight to follow the way past Calendhad, and they had to be careful about who they spoke to. Redcliffe was absolutely off-limits—as well as the Circle Tower for Wynne—and they resupplied with Old Tegrin, who characteristically didn't care. Apart from that one, miniscule interaction with their former glory days, the fun was gone from travelling. It was all secrecy and wistful thinking.

A group of bandits attempted to hold them up by the front gate, but Alistair ripped through them like they were made of paper. The warm splash of blood against his chest woke him up a little, but otherwise, it was a life torn away, just as thoughtless as Alistair prayed his sleep would be.

_If Andraste is testing me_…

The plan was to buy passage onto a trading caravan to Orlais, which stopped to trade with the drwarves outside of Orzammar's gate. Alistair had heard many a tall tale of the _Rejouissance _line that was based out of Jader, and Wynne had confirmed to him that it was a very real thing, and would no doubt lead them to the Chantry in Orlais where they could begin searching for Leliana.

But, as with all good plans, it fell apart quickly, specifically just as they entered the main trading grounds.

After spending several days waiting for the caravans to come through, Sten was ready to march for Highever when a small one finally pulled in. It was only six carts long and had no showy fabrics or fine trinkets spilling out of the doors, and one of the donkeys keeled over as soon as they pulled to a halt. The dwarves even turned their noses up at first, but they reluctantly helped move the poor animal and the proprietor vanished inside the first gate to coax the underground merchants out to see his wares.

Alistair was searching for a marking or brand on the side of the carts when the door he was examining swung upon, just grazing his nose. Leliana bounced down the last step and kicked the door shut before almost diving head first into Alistair's chest.

Their eyes met, and hers swelled to the size of dinner plates, and Alistair tried to figure out why she was staring at him in front of Orzammar as opposed to inside the city limits of Jader.

"Your Majesty," she exclaimed finally, falling to her knees, "Forgive me—I did not expect to see you here—"

"Shush with the Majesty bit, please," he mumbled, pulling her to her feet. "I'm in a bit of a rut and I don't need people falling all over me because I'm the king or what not—"

"Oh, Alistair, I've heard," she gasped as she squeezed his hands, rushing to her feet. "Oghren wrote me as soon as he knew—but I don't understand. Why, Alistair?"

"I didn't really have a choice—wait, _Oghren_ wrote you?"

"Yes," she breathed, "He thought Jenna had come to see me, but it is not so. Denerim is in chaos without you. Have you not heard?"

Alistair froze. A cold shadow crept in upon his thoughts, and the last recollections of her voice—always echoing repetitively in his mind—quieted to give way to the darkness. It was something that crossed him when they slipped out of the city, something he tried to tell himself wasn't possible while Arl Eamon held watch alongside him and something he felt stupidly merciful for—

"It's Anora, isn't it?" His voice was a razor. Leliana drew back.

"Yes," she said slowly. "She's declared herself reagent and has the capital under martial rule. Oghren is suspicious of her intentions, but it seems his Highness Arl Eamon is keeping the nobility from letting her run amok."

"By the Maker…" He tried very hard not to swear. "Are they sending out search parties?"

"If they are, they must be weak, meager ones," Leliana said. "The messenger reached me by moonlight two nights ago, so anyone with horse would have found you by now. Anora must be searching for you if she wants a legitimate claim to the throne—but I would be worried if she found you."

"A very good point," Alistair agreed. "But that also means they haven't found Jenna."

Leliana shrugged. "We don't know that. News of it hasn't spread this far yet, but I'm sure it will."

"Oh, Maker," Alistair groaned, putting his head in his hands. "Anora _would_ be stupid enough to try and kill her…"

"Alistair…" Leliana touched him lightly on the hand. "Do you know why she left?"

He shook his head, shoulders heavy. "No. I wish I did."

* * *

Zevran wondered the same thing when he found a poorly buried chicken carcass in the undergrowth of the Korcari Wilds, along with the still warm smoulderings of a fire—both large enough to support one person. She was travelling alone. How stupid.

He turned the carcass over with his foot. It had been torn to pieces and stripped to the bones, several of which were shattered, as if ravaged by a hungry—

Oh. Well, she had Axel with her.

Zevran grinned to himself. There were very few things the two of them could go up against and not win—perhaps a dragon or archdemon, neither of which would be in the Wilds—but Zevran was beginning to question the welfare of her mind, as once that mental fortress broke, she would be an easy mark. She had been famously put-together and composed during their journey, and Zevran knew that was her key component to relative invincibility.

Adrenaline rushed him at the thought of her being easily disarmed, easily taken apart, easily _dispatched_…

He was close. He could almost feel her.

* * *

How long had it been?

_Two weeks_, Jenna thought. _Couldn't possibly be more. I would know, eating this nasty food for such a long time._

A caravan was passing through the Wilds—idiots, to be sure—and they had stopped for a moment to rest the mules and give them water. Consequently, three men had come to Jenna's side of the road to use the world's largest bathroom, and she was able to overhear them chattering. Their Orlesian accents were thick, and she silently thanked Leliana for all her lessons on Orlesian culture.

After generic complaining about rude customers and the like, one of them finally said, "We've come at a bad time. The queen's been gone and hasn't approved anything, so hung up on the Grey Wardens…"

"She's probably in Amaranthine," another said. "Trying to be quiet about it, all her Grey Warden business—"

Jenna sank to the ground, trying not to cry. _Over a month_…

She'd been sleeping without him for over a month. That's why she'd been so cold and so tired and so bored. Morrigan wasn't coming to find her. It had been over a month and no word had come. She'd ruined everything.

Over a month… she grabbed her stomach, feeling for something, but everything was normal. _At least one thing is hold up…_

The traders finished packing up their carts and moved off on their way. Jenna contemplated following them, just to hear the conversation and include herself as an invisible companion. It had apparently been a month since she had last heard a human voice, and, even if they were Orlesian, she was glad to hear them from without her mind.

_That's it. I'm going crazy. This has made me crazy_.

She stood up, and screamed at the very top of her voice, a wordless roar that scared a few birds out of the underbrush and no doubt sent the caravan into a faster crawl in the opposite direction.

Then she melted back to the floor, and sobbed until her face felt dry, and Axel licked the tears from each cheek, whining as he watched her. She wished desperately for _him_ in that moment, the first time she had since she'd left, hating herself for being such a fool. Morrigan had abandoned her, and even if she went back to him, he would no doubt be too upset to believe her story, that she only wanted to save him, wanted to help him, wanted _him_, for the better…

* * *

Everyone was overjoyed to see Leliana, but they all saved their jubilation for camp about five miles away from any civilization.

Wynne threw her arms around Leliana like she was a long-lost daughter, and Sten even summoned up the wherewithal for a rough handshake. Shale had a familiar twinkle in her eyes, which she cast upon the Orlesian, and stood near her for most of camp.

Leliana did not expect to encounter her companions like this—sure, the meeting at the gate was a surprise—but this was any entirely more depressing thing to see: Wynne with an even deeper sag to her shoulders, Sten itching to be angry with the queen for being so foolish, and Alistair—he was simply less of himself, broken without her.

They broke bread and passed around stew, tastier than usual thanks to Leliana's knowledge of indigenous spices, and she seated herself next to Alistair, who was moving the chucks of potatoes around his bowl sullenly. He nodded at her as she sat down, and she offered him her ration of bread.

"No, thank you, Leliana," he sighed. "You need it just as much as I do."

"But you look as though you aren't going to eat it at all," Leliana said with a frown.

She watched him for several moments as he stared into the fire. At last, he breathed in deep and let it ring out through his nose. "It will be a month and three weeks tomorrow."

"Since she left?"

He nodded glumly. "I think of her a lot, as you can probably imagine. Every second of every day. I see her every night, in my dreams, and I just tell myself she's not real." He put his head in his hands "I wonder if this is what it feels like to be called… to the Deep Roads…"

"Alistair, don't say things like that," Leliana spat. Her tone softened once he looked at her. "I don't know why she has run, and we can only guess where. The Maker is keeping her safe,"—she took his hand—"this I promise you. Take comfort in this, if nothing else."

"I'm just afraid that if I see her again, I won't recognize her," he whispered. "I'll still be in the dream…"

"You will see her again, Alistair, we have all sworn to see it so," she said, squeezing his hand. "We have made the impossible become true. We can do much less."

Leliana sat there in silence with him, and wondered where in the world she would go. Antiva was out; there were too many people there who wanted her dead, and she obviously hadn't come to Orlais. Perhaps she was seeking out the refuge of her brother in their returned teryn?

"Alistair, have you written the Couslands at Highever?"

"Why would she go there? Fergus entertains many court minstrels and nobles. They'd spot her immediately."

"Family is capable of doing very sneaky things," she remarked. Alistair knew this all too well. "Perhaps she is with her brother, though? Fergus is certainly the sort who would cover for his sister, especially being the older one and taking on the fatherly role in Bryce's stead…"

"We have nowhere else reasonable to look," he conceded. "I suppose that is the only place we have left to go."

"And if she isn't there?"

He fought tears visibly, and fought them hard. "We go back to Denerim to settle things with Anora. I cannot skip on my duty for too long, despite how I may feel." He stood up. "Anora may have us both killed should we find her. She must be stopped."

Sten stepped forward. "Then I suggest we hasten to Highever. Horses would be best."

"Sten, you may have noticed we are all out of horses. They sort of give away the whole we-are-obviously-running-away thing."

"We steal some," he said flatly. "Preferably a caravan so we may restock for free and transport Shale. No horse can bear her weight."

Alistair threw his hands up in the air. "Why not, I'm at the end of my line anyways. While we're at it, let's find some ale and dancing gnomes to keep us entertained at camp. I just hate the long nights of sitting around the fire being surly and boring, I feel like gnomes would just spice everything up."

Sten narrowed his eyes. "Gnomes can only be spices if they are ground into tiny pieces and grilled. They are not entertaining."

Alistair and Leliana exchanged looks before she gave into laughter and he gave up trying to be sarcastic and went to bed early.

* * *

Zevran was just finishing robbing a caravan when he heard the blood-curdling scream echo through the undergrowth.

The merchants, who were hogtied face down in the dirt and squirming as they shouted curses at him, suddenly fell still and strained to exchange glances, before begging Zevran to cut them free and not leave them to the Witches, who were obviously running through the Wilds yelling their heads off. Zevran rolled his eyes, finished stuffing his bags with food and a couple trap components, before tossing them a dagger and heading in the direction of the scream.

He knew it was her. She was losing her cool—he had been waiting for a sign for days now. The blood in his head thundered in his ears and he felt hot all over, as if bathed in the sun for hours to burning…

She knew someone heard her. Her variable sixth sense told her so. It also told her whoever it was—they were coming, and they weren't Morrigan.

She clicked her tongue twice to Axel, and they took off sprinting into the undergrowth, zigzagging often enough to avoid a straight path.

The hunt was on.


	6. The Thickening

**ARCANUM – littlefishh**

**Chapter 6: The Thickening **

Zevran's coy I-know-something-you-don't-know smile sometimes made Jenna nervous, his being an assassin for the obvious, but, in the fading afterglow of their first night together, it warmed her heart to melting like only few things could.

"See? I knew this would happen eventually," he sneered playfully, poking her lightly in the side. "I should have warned you right from the moment you refused to kill me. It was inevitable."

She rolled her eyes as she pulled her undershirt back over her head. "And here I thought I seduced _you_…"

He chuckled in spite of himself, amused. "Oh-ho, why, aren't you the saucy little minx, then? I've been used and I wasn't even aware of it! A masterpiece," he declared, kissing her once more. "So, as the priestess so famously said to the handsome actor: what next?"

Jenna remembered a smile curling through her. "How do I know this isn't just part of your plan?"

The elf held his smile as his eyes began to smolder again. "My dear, I had you laid bare but a foot away from the sharpest of my knives. If there was a moment of betrayal to be had, it has long passed, and I am none less worried of it."

"Perhaps you just plan to have me naked more often for a clearer shot at my back," she mused aloud. "Or perhaps you plan to accustom me to being naked and then surprise me."

"By induction, you will never be surprised if you are suspicious every time," Zevran replied. "And you may find yourself surprised, though not in a _killing_ sense."

His charm never rested, as went the rule for such wicked things. She laughed lightly—it felt good. "Well, then I ask you: what next?"

"Allow me to make it simple for you, my dear Grey Warden," he said, taking her hands. His stare was even but still intense. "What comes next is entirely up to you."

For once, Jenna didn't like the way that sounded. Choices had always been her forte—or the illusion of them, at least—for she seemed to have both the aptitude for making them and the will to back them. People like Sten had latter and Alistair the former, but one was no good without the other. Zevran was always content to follow since that was the way of the Crows, but somehow Jenna wished she wouldn't have to make a decision, be it now or in the future, that would end up hurting someone she cared about.

He could sense this, and massaged her hands as he spoke. "I was raised to take my pleasures where they could be found, for they do not come very often. I shall ask nothing more than you are willing to give."

Jenna cocked her head to the side. "So easy come, easy go?"

He smiled. "Whatever you wish."

"What about love?"

Jenna regretted it instantly, but wait to hear him out.

He sighed and helped her to her feet before showing her out of the tent. "I was born of a whore and raised as an assassin—all I know is of pleasure and death. What room is there in these things for love?"

He sounded like he wanted to believe it too. He could sense she felt a waver of insincerity in his tone, and quickly said, "But I digress. Things are what they are, so let us make the best of them, no? For now we have a blight to deal with!"

She looked happy enough, and finished buckling the last of her armour before hailing her companions to signal breaking camp.

* * *

Zevran relived it over and over in his mind—how she would come sidling up to him, a familiar and exciting sway in her hips, before teasing him with boring conversation, of which he would suffer shortly, thanks to his charm. Soon, they would be rushing into his tent in a flurry of shed armour and weapons, twisting together on the forest floor until they reached their full. Even when he had been spent, he always desired for something more he could do to feel her on a deeper level, to pull himself down to drown within her embrace. It was a merciless urge that he desperately wished to be inflicted on his enemies, yet so precious he couldn't help but steal it away.

Yet he felt taking her to bed was not the way to do that, so he asked for it to stop. She kindly agreed, which spiraled him even further towards delirium, and thoughts of love and commitment began to enter his mind. He knew it they had become conscious when he saw her kissing Alistair one morning before they entered the Brecilian Forest and felt…strange.

It was jealousy, and he did not take kindly to it. When he finally mustered the courage to confront her, she dismissed it for a later time. He agreed—speaking of such things whilst werewolves traipsed about lamenting their love for traitorously summoned tree-women was mildly inappropriate. He tried again at the conclusion of that campaign, only to have her wildly avoiding the subject. Awkwardness pervaded their relationship, as she tried to downplay her feelings for Alistair while he reverted back to his usual loose self, making weak passes at Leliana and Morrigan for laughs.

Zevran had been absent for most of her journey through Orzammar, but when he was called upon, she never brought the other Warden along. Zevran had almost grown used to the daily politics, until she moved their main camp within the city walls of Denerim to do some preliminary investigations before the Landsmeet.

It was there that he had bedded several of the tavern girls, much to Jenna's distaste. She did not pick up on his being with the first two, but the third she noticed, and went on to silently keep track of all of them. Zevran could not tell if her jealousy would result in her returning to him to challenge the competition, or if she would wait for him to come on to her. He told himself she was brooding about it in the quiet hours, bedding Alistair for revenge, and hoped that she would come to him before long.

He was very, very wrong.

Alistair had come to terms with his shrew of a sister, and decided that taking the throne was something he might be good at. He hadn't come around on it completely, but he rather liked envisioning Jenna as his queen. It was Leliana who broke first, smashing her lyre in frustration when she heard that rumours of an engagement on the horizon and, despite Jenna vehemently and openly denying they were true, Leliana quit camp for a time to gather her mind. Jenna was visibly put off by it.

"Our little brigade wasn't exactly renown for its mental stability," she groaned, "but everyone's been toeing closer and closer to the edge of lunacy lately. This is the time when we need to be together!"

The night Leliana returned, Jenna called council, and had a 'come to the Maker' talk with everyone by the fire, where she outlined her relationship to each one of them. It was there she formally labeled Zevran as her 'true friend, valuable ally, and easy laugh,' things he would have been proud of despite her insistence on their indispensability if not for _him_, whom she called her lifelong love and best friend, much to the heartbreak of Leliana and himself. She warned them all of the coming danger and reminded them that her days were numbered—"Any sort of kindness you wish to pay to me before I go should be paid in darkspawn blood," she said matter-of-factly, before departing alone for her tent.

Zevran laboured and pained to think of it, someone bringing Jenna Cousland down. After she had finished fighting the High Dragon with most of its tail spike through her midsection, singlehandedly crunched a werewolf's swiping paw, and put a sizeable dent into one of Orzammar's golem's chest plate, Zevran was at a loss for imagining what sort of force it would require to bring down a woman and Grey Warden like Jenna Cousland. This comforted him, knowing that there was nothing they could face that she wouldn't be mightier than, but it also terrified him that she should plan to march to her death so confidently.

She scared him. He feared her power, her beauty, her charm that she wielded like a drunk princess with a crossbow, but most of all, he feared her smile. It was in that simple gesture that he had placed all of his trust and hope, not for a time beyond the Blight, but for a time beyond at all, which he would be allowed to spend with her. He knew there were others with similar dreams, and there was one among them who would be lucky enough to see them realized.

But it was not the assassin. For him, such things were not to be.

* * *

Jenna never doubted for a second that she had made the wrong choice in Alistair over Zevran, but she sometimes doubted whether she had made the wrong choice in Alistair at all.

As king for Ferelden, he could only accrue enemies of his power and weaknesses by his friends—that is, for in every person he placed his trust, he gouged a little hole by which those against them could seep in. A king can only spin himself a web, something that was too fragile to be safe yet too necessary to do without. It was as if the role of king was a Blight of its own. Jenna knew that, as his queen, she would be the one his enemies saw to first, knowing that Alistair would very well throw his country to the wolves if he were so inclined.

Had those enemies come for him before the Landsmeet, Alistair would have left Ferelden to waste in Jenna's honor, but, as king, he was obliged to be more responsible out of patriotism and duty. It was this that Jenna decided was to be the end of their relationship, and, upon her departure form the palace, she felt that notion calm her unexpectedly. She didn't expect to feel comfort from running away from a problem, but there wasn't a way to fix it. She did not want to set sail in a ship she knew wasn't seaworthy.

But that had never been a contributing factor to why she left, just a thought that helped her justify her actions long after the initial paranoia waned.

_Look at me, the heroine of Ferelden, happy reflecting on abandoning my country and husband. Oh, Maker…_

She was not at all proud of herself for any of this—there were many a night she spent wishing she had stayed to work things out with everyone—but the time had since passed for those consequences to be appropriate and she knew she had already placed her bets in the grand arena. The rest was a waiting game.

She and Axel hunted during the cool light of the morning. Their latest prize, a gargantuan buck whom the mabari had chased down and held for her to kill, proved to be a difficult thing to drag back to camp. Instead, Jenna told Axel to guard the corpse whilst she fetched the pack, and relocated their base to the side of the river, about twenty paces off of where the deer now lay.

Jenna dressed the giant thing skillfully and strung its hooves on a piece of leather—they could fetch a decent barter off the wayward trader, who could easily sell them to knifemakers as handles—before cutting the hide away in one big piece. She washed the blood off it in the river before setting it to dry from a low branch. The rest was meat and bones, of which the former could feed them for a week.

She started a fire with some kindling and dry twigs and started constructing a spit before she noticed Axel's hungry, meek eyes turned towards her. He whined, begging, and she sighed to herself before wrenching off the left foreleg and throwing it to him. He knew better than to bark, so instead he set to work, biting through the drying leather and into the soft leg meat beneath.

Jenna roasted a much smaller piece of herself. As she set upon her food, she wondered what Leliana was doing; the ranger had an almost inhuman knowledge of rugged living and was well-liked as cook for her ability to find spice substitutes in whatever wild place they had set up camp. She loved the attention, and Jenna had noticed that they all were more willing to listen to her bard tales when they had large bites of tasty food in their mouths.

She had been surprised to find out about Leliana's romantic feelings towards her once things with Alistair begin to deepen.. Alistair hadn't noticed them either, but he was never the best at picking up on subtle things. When Leliana had left camp for those awful three days, Jenna thought she had never been so angry in her life. What she had with Alistair was easy and effortlessly pure, so it had rarely muddled her feelings towards reaching the archdemon, but for someone to blatantly reveal their anger about a social situation instead of the sodding Blight…

Oghren had taught her that word, and it had a sort of stinging meaninglessness that other curse words didn't in that it gave Jenna the image of sopping wet grass. No doubt he had given up on women after he learned of her flight. He had dealt with plenty of silly womanly bullshit with Branka, and Jenna knew he wouldn't be expecting this of her. It was almost incentive enough to reach Morrigan, just to make sure she would have to come back to an earful of vibrant dwarven curses at the Denerim armory.

_Andraste, bless them, my friends. I hope that I can still call them that once this is over._

_

* * *

_

Taliesin was pleased to see that the Queen of Ferelden was gone. He even had a laugh when no one wanted to add 'missing' to the end of that. But that wasn't even the best part…

That poltroon of a king had absolutely no memory of their encounter not three months previous!

It was and unbelievable stroke of luck and a successful risk on the Crows' part. Once again, he was happy to be included in the Crows' plans, this time as one of three false emissaries to the Queen, whom they planned to assassinate on the solstice.

Zevran was gone as well, but Taliesin knew he was not missing, unlike Queen Jennalin. As the Crows' undisputed leader for the past month, it was no surprise or coincidence that the two vanished together. In fact, Taliesin eagerly awaited his summons back to guild headquarters in hopes to see Zevran reappear, but the Queen continue to be 'gone'.

It made him cackle at the thought of it.

It was all going according to plan until he heard the rumors circulating at the port taverns in Amaranthine on their way home. Grey Warden troops had just finished searching Highever for the Queen under capital orders, and the ale had loosened their tongues.

"There've been sightings," one drawled, quaffing more ale. "Mostly in the Wilds, but search parties in there would be suicide."

"And be so _obvious_," chimed another. "The nobles want their queen, Anora wants their throats. She can't make it obvious she wants to find the Captain or the city will turn on her."

"She's in the Wilds, planning something," the first yelled back. "Patrols and traders have seen her, her face is on every coin in the country, they're not _all_ mad, seeing the same face in the same place…"

Taliesin whispered to his accomplices. "Have we gotten word from Antiva City at all?"

"Kerazine has declared himself the new head of the guild," one said. "Apparently Zevran didn't tell anyone he was leaving, so the position was… say, vacant."

Taliesin wanted to throw his drink everywhere, but he gritted his teeth instead. "Bastard. He's got no intention of killing her. For all we know, they could be eloping!"

"Eloping? In the Wilds?" the other asked, his eyes doubtful. "Not a place to spend your days as the leaders of two countries, not a days ride from the capital of Ferelden."

"They're together, that's for sure," Taliesin snapped, "and they must be planning something, something the Guild hasn't agreed on. He means to help her take Antiva."

The two looked at him with blank stares before one finally spoke. "Should we alert the Guild?"

"No. We find him ourselves and kill him. The Guild cannot be betrayed, and Antiva must stay in our control." He gave them both a hard look before finishing his drink, then started towards the stables. There was a long way to be travelled before he would sleep safely.

* * *

Morrigan watched the whole world go mad, then went back to filing her nails.

The Crows wanted Jenna dead, Anora wanted Jenna dead, Jenna was doing increasingly stupid things to _make_ herself dead, and Alistair just plain out wanted her.

She saw through the Fade that Zevran was after her as well, but Morrigan couldn't yet see where he fit into the picture. It made her wish she'd paid more attention to the social nuances of their travelling group, but she doubted she understand them even if she did. He was physically armed to kill but emotionally crippled, and Jenna, who was also losing her grip on sanity, would rip him to shreds blindfolded and drunk.

_ Yes, the world really is as stupid and crazy as Mother figured._

Morrigan knew even she herself was starting to lose touch, because she was actually considering having an audience with the runaway Queen, who was currently attracting both search parties (official and unofficial) and assassin sqauds. Had Morrigan just distanced herself from Jenna or just left at the first chance she had, none of this would seem so complicated. She could stick her head into the Fade and scream, "TO THE HELLS WITH YOU, JENNA" so loud, it would echo in Lady Cousland's dreams.

But alas, Jenna was her friend, her _only_ friend at that, and, out of loyalty and embarrassment at having just one single friend this late in life, Morrigan owed her what counsel she could spare.

Morrigan hoped to reach her before Zevran did, as the matter she needed to discuss with Jenna would not be helped by having a third set of ears and opinions present. And if Zevran beat her to the Warden, she would do what she judged to be best—

Kill them both and take back what was supposed to be hers.

* * *

_A note to my lovely readers—_

_Thank you so much for your time and comments! They don't go unappreciated, as quiet as I am. Now that ifnals are over, I'll have more time to write and hopefully I can give you guys some reading material in the breaks of your own._

_Happy trails!_


	7. The Dying

**ARCANUM – littlefishh**

**Chapter 7: The Dying**

Somewhere in the deep watches of the Fade, Jennalin Cousland woke.

She knew she was in the Fade because she was in Highever, and her room was clean. She wasn't sure which of the two gave the illusion away.

Highever had been her favourite place to be in her younger days. In a way, it still was, but it was rank with the tainted memory of her dying parents; every portrait conjured up a picture of her father, who liked to appraise them quietly with a glass of wine in hand, while the fine tapestries and carpet brought back visions of her mother, who went to great lengths to retrieve Orlesian treasures to commemorate her long-removed heritage.

In the summers of her youth, Highever was a famous hunting capital and her father hosted many a tournament for hunting pheasants and deer, even bears one year when a local trade line was attacked by a roving band of grizzlies. Tournaments meant huge gifts to the hosting family: for her and her mother, fine Orlesian silks and leatherwear, and swords upon swords upon swords for her brother and father. With Feastday in the winter and hunting season all summer, Highever was never at a loss for celebration, especially as the Cousland children got older and we able to entertain guests alongside their parents. Even as she stood in the Fade-Highever, she could still hear the echoes of laughter and dancing music through the hallways.

She walked out of her bedroom and through the set of adjoining chambers in her suite, all the while wondering why she was awake in the Fade. It was said that all beings went to the Fade when they slept, but only mages were conscious once there. The rest wandered aimlessly through their dreams until they were returned to their bodies without.

Or something like that, since she knew she wasn't in the real Highever. Maybe she was having one of those desperation dreams again, like of her wedding with Alistair so many nights ago…

When she reached the foyer that joined her suite with her brother's, she stopped and gasped in spite of herself. It was impossible.

Sitting in one of the lacquered chairs not ten paces off was Morrigan, with a fresh look of anger put up on her face, which would have looked tired or haggard without an expression. That was about par for the course as far as witches of the Wilds went.

Jenna was torn between sprinting across the room to hug her or simply stand there in silence until Morrigan acknowledged her. It seemed the latter won out by default, as Morrigan was rising from her chair and coming across the room as Jenna's mind spun, wild with curiosity but also tinged with apprehension.

Morrigan stopped before the Queen and looked as though she might genuflect—a true mockery; as good friends as they were, Morrigan went along with authority but didn't respect it—but instead held her silent vigil, eyes expressionless. Jenna was sure that she herself looked like she was about to cry. Which would be true, since she was confused beyond reasonability and frustrated out of most of her wits.

After a long moment of staring, Morrigan said, "Hello, Jenna."

She extended her hand, but Jenna's fingers floated right through her. Or perhaps it was the other way around—all she saw was a mangled haze of color when she should have felt flesh.

The witch sighed. "It is as I thought."

Jenna's shoulders caved. "Morrigan. I'm so glad to see you…"

"You aren't seeing me," Morrigan replied. "You are experiencing a wayward echo of yourself through the Fade, one that has woken me, so I came to investigate." She crossed her arms. "For a second, I believed you were truly _in_ the Fade—but it is no matter. I won't waste my time talking to a mirror."

Morrigan turned to go, but Jenna lunged right through her, and turned to face her on the other side. "Morrigan, it's me, I'm really here! I can make my own decisions. I can hear things in this place, and, apart from some minor inaccuracies in the details, I believe I may have made this place… from my memories."

Morrigan's eyebrow rose in speculation. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, you've never been to Highever before, and you've certainly never been in this part of the teryn. How would you know what it looks like?"

"True," she conceded, "but if I am in _your_ memory, I wouldn't have to know that. You would have built it for me."

"Then take me somewhere only you've been, and I'll show you I'm here," Jenna pleaded.

Morrigan squinted at her for a long while before saying, "Are you with that mangy dog?"

Jenna was caught somewhat off-guard by the question, but replied, "Yes, Axel is with me. Why?"

"What was the first thing that awful creature put in my things at camp?" Her eyes glittered with malicious glee. "Only the true Jenna would know that, as it is something that took place between just the two of us."

Jenna sighed to herself. "Oh, when are you going to get over this, Mo—I believe you described it as a 'putrid, half-eaten hare'. It was a gift, Morrigan—"

Suddenly, Morrigan lurched over to her and snatched her hand—the witch's fingers were freezing—and with a sickening pitch, Jenna felt her feet zoom above her head. For the briefest moment, she thought Morrigan had killed her Fade-self, only to find her feet swirling over her until she was rolling headlong across the soft grass of the Lake Calenhad shores, right into—

She face-planted into the water and shuddered. If not for Morrigan's cold hands on her wrist, she was sure the shock would have phased her out of the Fade. She was surprised to find that she wasn't at all wet once she scrambled to her feet.

Morrigan cackled softly. "Water doesn't exist in the Fade, only your perception of it."

"Why are we at Lake Calenhad?"

Her smile was unsettling. "We must discuss something if we are to meet. This is an appropriate place to talk." She swept herself into a careful pile on the ground, legs tucked neatly beneath her, and patted the dust next to her. "Come."

Careful to avoid the sticky prongs of a nearby rosebush, she did as she was told, and dropped down next to her. Morrigan gazed out across the water, and Jenna was content to join her for a moment.

At last, Morrigan again broke the silence. "Zevran is coming to you."

Jenna whipped her head towards her. "Zev? Are you _serious_?"

"He knows you are looking for me—I don't know how he knows, mind you—but he is close to finding you," she said, avoiding eye contact. "It is so thickly in his dreams that I am reminded every night."

Jenna was awestruck. "He's coming to me…after all I've done to him…"

"Which is why I wouldn't be excited, if I were you," Morrigan cautioned. "He is an _assassin_, Jenna, a _jilted_ assassin at that, and you would do well to remember that."

"He would never in a million ages, Morrigan," she shot back. "I'm very aware he is an assassin, but he has no allegiances to Antiva or Anora—"

"He has no allegiances, _period_. Not to you or your enemies. He could have heard of your disappearance and decided it was time for his revenge."

Jenna shook her head. "He wouldn't. I know it."

Morrigan gave her a long, hard look before saying, "You are a sitting duck. You are completely disarmed. He can come to see you with knives flying and you'd probably still try to hug him."

"He is a friend, and I know he won't do something like that," she repeated. Morrigan could have sharpened a dagger on the set of her jaw, it was so hard and stubbornly held.

The witch sighed. "In any case, that is not what I've come to tell you." She looked Jenna right in the eyes. "You are aware Alistair is looking for you, I'm sure?"

She looked away, twisting a pinch of grass in her hands. "I thought so," she squeaked.

"Are you aware he is bringing Wynne, Shale, and Leliana on this mad quest to find you?"

"_Leliana_? How? She is in Jader, how could she have possibly—"

Morrigan's extended hand quieted her. "They have all joined him out of respect for you. All I am about to ask of you is to preserve that respect."

Jenna could do nothing but stare back, dumbfounded and ashamed. She wanted to cry, badly.

"I want you to come with me in the Fade to Alistair's dream, and tell him you are dead."

Jenna was on her feet in a hurry, shouting now. "What? You want me to do _what_?"

Morrigan narrowed her eyes. "It isn't as though you haven't betrayed him enough, is it? Are you going to stand up and yell at me on get a hold on yourself and listen?"

"I won't do it, Morrigan, I've sank much too far already," she said, voice taking on a panicked, cornered timbre to it. "Don't ask more of me than I can do. I've done enough damage to ruin his life and keep me up at night, and I can't in good conscience do more." She was breathless now. "Please do not ask this of me."

Once again, the witch patted the ground. "Come."

Jenna hesitated, then dropped to the floor with an graceless flop. Morrigan's eyes ghosted to her, fire dancing in those deep eyes. "He is abandoning his country and his duty, Jenna, and you know as well as I that he will never find you, yet he won't stop until he does."

She was crying now and it felt deliciously good. The salt stung her cheeks with a fresh twinge of pain that seemed to clear her mind. "And how will pretending I'm dead help that?"

"It will give him closure." Her tone was flat and matter-of-fact. "It will be the last piece of ammunition he needs to win himself back from your memory."

The words felt stupid even as they left her mouth, but she felt better for saying them. "I'm not dead…"

Their eyes connected. "Are you expecting to return from your predicament alive?"

"Yes," she blurted. "I just didn't know…if that would mean and eternity here, or finishing my time with him, or letting my days spin out in the service of the God…"

The witch drew back in surprise. "Excuse me, did you say 'service of the God'? What nonsense are you—"

"I'll do it," she interrupted. "I'll do it. I don't wish him any more pain. I don't know what will become of this, but it won't end far from now, and he can move on. And he should." She laughed sardonically to herself. "It might even be true in a couple of days, with the way things are going."

It was Morrigan's turn to stand. "I brought you to Calenhad to remind you of his rose. He dreams himself here all the time. In fact—" her eyes spun back into her head before she shook her head, "he is here now."

Jenna got to her feet. "Here? Where?"

"For the only time, he will find _you_," she mused, melting into the bushes.

Suddenly, the clinking of armor filled the air and Jenna could hear the repeating _squish-squish_ of boots on mud. She panicked in the silence and scrambled behind one of the bushes, scraping her legs to hell, and covering her feet with dirt. The clanging was getting louder and louder, and so was the throttle of blood through her head.

The clanging suddenly stopped, and she had to clamp both hands over her mouth to keep from squeaking out a gasp. She cursed Morrigan silently in her head: _Even if I refused, she was going to trap me here to see him_.

She squatted lower behind the bush, hoping she would randomly vanish like the witch before her. He was making his way around the bushes now, and any second he would—

—sweep the thorny hedges aside, and see her hiding there, and say—

"Hello, love!" He said cheerfully, and offered her his hand.

Dumbly, she took it, and he helped extract her from the bush. "Careful of the spines now, they're vicious little things and they'll stick on you for weeks. Annoying, they are, not much more. Well, there you go, all out of the hedges and not many scratches! What about that, ha!"

He had gone absolutely mad.

Jenna had never felt so ashamed in her life. She couldn't even call to mind any childish incident that always seemed so embarrassing at the time; nothing could eclipse this feeling of utter worthlessness. She had driven the man she loved above all others to complete lunacy.

He was smiling brightly back at her look of astonishment. He pointed a joking finger in her direction. "I must admit, dear, you are quite early. Usually, you don't turn up until I have a nap by the shore, and then I ask you where you are and you just laugh and laugh. Oh," she sighed to himself, coming down out of his imitation of her laughter. "It's such a peculiar thing, really…"

Her throat was bone dry. She tried to squeeze out a word, but only a strange gasping sound came out.

"And then I always say to you, will I ever see you again, and you say that I am seeing you, but we have the same conversation every time, so I just laugh with you. After all, what else can I do?"

He reminded her of when she found him in the Fade while looking for the demon that infected Eamon's son, so desperately affectionate. He was with his sister that time, in a false paradise of family. Now, that fake vision was exactly the same, only _she_ was the family now.

She remembered trying to convince him Goldanna was a demon, and he wanted so badly to believe his sister loved him that he wouldn't give it up. It broke her heart then to watch him wish desperately for a family. Now…

"I_ am_ here, Alistair," she said, relishing his name. "It's really me."

"Of course, dear, I never said it wasn't," he said, walking towards the shore. "I just meant—oh."

She took his hand as he passed her, and the touch of real skin flew through him; she could see it in his face when he turned to face her that the dream was crumbling away, and he was realizing that she was actually here, _here_, being with him. His eyes glittered suspiciously, suggesting tears, and his voice confirmed it. "Jenna… it… it's really you?"

"Yes," she gushed, but forced herself not to touch his face, to cradle it in her hands, to kiss him. For now she just squeezed his hand, and he stood, lifeless, before her.

"It is you," he breathed. "Maker's breath…"

She smiled weakly, forcing a big bursting grin from appearing there. "I'm come to you, in the Fade, Ali."

He took her other hand ferociously and squeezed hard. "Where are you, Jenna? Why didn't you say anything to me? Why did you leave me? Are you safe? Wh—"

She put a finger to his lips and he quieted, but the questions swam in his eyes. She once again pulled up the weak smile. "I will answer all your questions, love. I promise. But there is one thing you must do for me."

"_Anything_," he breathed, eyes gleaming,

"You must return to Denerim without me."

A tear finally spilled over onto his cheek and he frowned to stem it. She felt the jagged line begin cutting its way down her heart with every centimeter it travelled. "Why," he choked.

"Because I won't be coming home."

He could no longer bear it, and dropped his head, a single sob wracking his body. Her resolve drowned in the tears across their faces, and she cupped his jaw in her hands, pulling it back up again, letting everything go. "The taint called me, my love," she said, hating herself as she lied, "it is my duty to answer it—"

His arms were around her, encircling her in that lovely familiar ring of protection. "Are you in Orzammar, the Deep Roads? I'll come find you, rescue you from this—you don't' have to face it alone—"

"I do, Ali," she managed to choke out between sobs. "It is every Grey Warden's duty to give their lives in battle against the darkspawn."

"But you don't have to do it alone—"

"I do, Ali, I do," she cried. "The door to the Maker is one-person wide, and it is a journey I must make alone." She hugged him, letting her mouth rest by his ears. "_In death, sacrifice_," she whispered, feeling his arms around her.

He pulled her back. "I'll search for you until I find you. I can't go back to Denerim like this. I have to find you."

"This is nothing to find. That is why I was able to find you here."

His eyes swelled. "Will you always be here when I sleep?"

She shook her head sadly. "No. Your memories may construct visions of me, but I will be with Andraste and the Maker, singing the Chant throughout the Fade." She brushed his dampened hair away from his face. "I would not wish you the torment of seeing me in your dreams for the rest of your life."

"I don't want to be without you," he cried, holding her tightly. "I want to be with you, with Andraste—"

She shook him hard. "Your time has not come. You have much left to do." She hugged him again. "Ali, I love you. Do not cheat me out of a life watching over you. Promise me."

"Jenna, please—"

"Promise me!"

He kissed her, and she felt it all through her, vibrating softly, then much more violently, until she felt herself go completely hot, and she screamed, on fire—

* * *

She woke with a start in the forest, coming face to face with Axel, who was giving her a curious expression of both fear and awe. At the sight of him, she burst into tears.

It was the best nightmare she had ever had.


	8. The Finding

**ARCANUM – littlefishh**

**Chapter 8: The Finding**

There was blood in the river—deer blood—as well as white kaddis—

Mabari warpaint.

He was close.

* * *

Alistair's eyes burst open in the still of early morning, and he scrambled to sit up, frantic with the dream still fresh in his thoughts.

Leliana and Sten woke instinctively, pulling weapons as they bolted upright, their eyes churning expectantly. The qunari narrowed his eyes. "What is it, _vehl_?"

Alistair didn't know how to answer that question. He was inclined to say it was all some terrible nightmare that just felt real, but he still wasn't sure. It was the first time he'd felt awake in his own dream, and the first time the dream had changed since its inception two months ago, but the location was the same. It was, in fact, where they were camping now. Perhaps dreaming in the place where your body is could trigger such a vivid, lucid dream.

But he knew that he had seen her. He just _knew_. He had that same swollen feeling of clairvoyance that possessed him when he felt her take the final blow on the archdemon. The taint was telling him that everything he saw was true.

Wynne was stirring now, and Shale's eyes were glowing bright as they usually did. The golem huffed a metallic sigh, and asked, "The nightmare again?"

"Different this time," he admitted. "She was _there_."

Shale huffed again. "She is always there. In every dream."

Wynne cocked her head to the side. "You mean within the Fade?"

Alistair nodded. Wynne gasped. "But that must mean…"

"She came to tell me she is dead."

Silence seemed to strike them all audibly; even the horses stopping braying. Leliana clutched her heart, tears coming, and Sten bowed his head, lips moving in a quiet prayer to the Qun. Wynne's eyes were shut tight and her hands covered her mouth as she fought the urge to cry.

Alistair forced himself to move, and began to gather up his things into his pack. "We must return to Denerim to deal with Anora. She gets more powerful with ever minute we spend away."

"The kingly one wants to walk back into Denerim without an army," Shale said. "How silly."

The golem stomped to her feet. "It would be advisable to continue to Highever and earn the teryn's support before returning to the capital. Any army would be useful against that pig-woman in Denerim."

Sten nodded in agreement. "If she is out to kill you, turning up weary and barely armed at her doorstep would not be the wisest move."

Alistair had resigned himself to a long while of misery before he would find peace. He would have to deliver the news to his beloved's brother, who had lost much of his family to war already, then march on the capital with Jenna's army. It was a whole string of sadness that had to be seen out.

He remembered how _she_ was able to lead their band of forces from Ostagar all the way to the assault on Denerim while biding her hatred and hurt over her parents' deaths with incredible grace. He would now follow in her example, and do his best to keep the pieces in place in his next few moves.

Past that was a very, very bleak horizon.

* * *

Taliesin found himself standing on the edge of the Korcari Wilds with a stomach full of fear and a mind full of angry thoughts. Surely this would be the last time Zevran betrayed him.

It would be a lie to say Taliesin knew Zevran, but the two had certainly been through the carnage that is friendship in the Crows. It was there on those battlefields that they became acquainted, then intimate, and finally separate. Taliesin looked for him endlessly after he left and when he found his betrayer, the elf broke his heart once again.

Killing Rinna was the most beautiful thing in the world—he was given the chance to forcibly remove the last barricade between himself and his love, and he got to do it with his very favourite dagger. Few things since came close to the thrill of her blood spilling through his fingers, Zevran's mocking expression of her pleads, and her tears that came hotly across her cheeks, diluting and sweetening the bloody mess that remained of her throat. It was a wonderful memory that he relived when his hopes wore thin, one that was sure to haunt him until he settled the score with Antiva's former Guildmaster.

Sometimes he hated himself for attempting to forgive Zevran, only to have the elf stabbing at his back in the Grey Warden's defense. He crawled away from the fight bloodied and half-dead, and, had he not told the Crows that it was Zevran that did this to him, he would be spending the rest of his days in some mute hell beyond the Fade. The Crows were eager to see Zevran's loose end tied off permanently—that was until he convinced all the upper masters of the Crows to support his bid for Guildmaster, and quickly saw his predecessor off.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, and Taliesin gathered his will and broken heart before stepping cautiously into the Wilds.

* * *

Jenna knew immediately what she must do—Axel must be sent away to her allies in support of the story she had given _him_ last night. He was not going to like it.

They had a long trek to the nearest imitation of a road, and she spent it in silence as he whined and looked up to her. If her calculations by the stars were right and her intuition was good, Axel could be at the Imperial Highway by dawn tomorrow. It was good that the nightmare had woken her early.

She shook her head to disperse the memory and it dissipated slowly. Remembering it now would only slow her steps and harden her ever-broken heart.

"Do you remember the way from Ostagar?" she asked the mabari, who chirped loudly in reply. "That's where we're going."

He grumbled, neutral, and set himself beside her, paws flopping down in bored steps. They continued on like this for several miles until the trees began to thin, and finally they were in a large, grassy field. The silhouette of Ostagar's ruins loomed in the distant morning air, towering over the lands like a lighthouse at sea.

She knelt next to Axel and gave him a good scratch behind the ears, but he wasn't fooled. He laid his ears flat against his head and growled, eyes sad.

"You must go to Ostagar and take the Imperial Highway to Redcliffe," she whispered. "You must do this for me, Axel."

The sadness in his face felt human, but she knew better. "Please, Axel. I will be fine, and I will call for you in time."

He took a couple of steps in Ostagar's direction, then looked bad at her hesitantly. She raised her hand in a motionless wave and did her best to keep her face expressionless. After several repeats of that pattern, he finally took to a trot, and began carving a path through the grass. She watched him go, heart aching.

_Morrigan, I need you. Now I am completely alone._

She took a deep breath, but was cut short by a warm hand over her mouth.

Screaming was not her first instinct. Instead, she elbowed her attacker hard in the arm, and swept her foot up into his crotch. Both blows connected with a mutual groan of pain, and she twisted herself out from his grip and slammed his back to the ground, straddling his legs with hers pinning them down.

"Ah, my dear lady," Zevran said with a coy smile. "This is _exactly_ how I wanted to meet you."

* * *

Eamon had just about run out of curses to lay on his two favourite Grey Wardens.

Anora had put him in a jail cell for doing everything in his power to keep her off the throne. Her bid for queen was getting stronger every day she ruled over Denerim, and it was only a matter of time before the nobility voted her in a queen to appease the populace. Like all political bodies in hard time, the bannorn was more fickle than ever.

However, it was also a matter of time before Oghren rallied a resistance to spring all of Anora's political enemies from their hiding places, and Eamon was confident that such an uprising would take place within the fortnight. Until then, he had to hope Anora was otherwise engaged, so as to avoid torture or quiet execution.

He sat down on his bed, and prayed to the Maker for the puzzle pieces to be set in place.

* * *

"You're an idiot for sneaking up on me like that," Jenna spat, shoving Zevran hard beneath her. "Explain yourself."

"Isn't it obvious, darling? I have travelled long and far to sprawl myself beneath you. I have a thing for, say, serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess, however naughty those whims might be. And I do hope they are naughty, very naughty indeed."

She rolled her eyes. "Get on with it before I change my mind and release you."

"That certainly would be a punishment for me, no?" He chuckled to himself and returned her serious gaze. "I have come to warn you, and protect you, should you need it. The Crows have marked you, guild-wide. It is not especially healthy for your urge to stay alive." His eyebrow went up. "That is, if you still _have_ the urge to stay alive? Something about your traipsing about in the Wilds with not but your skin and sword tells me otherwise."

She stood up and readjusted herself. "You shouldn't have come. The Crows won't find me here, even if you did."

"True, but with you gone from the capital, you are as good as dead to the Crows. You forget they only care about the results, not the methods, dear."

"And I wonder who took the bid credit for that?" she retorted.

He chuckled again. "I left before declaring my hunt for the target. I am sure someone has taken over in my absence." He feigned thinking hard. "I suppose I shall just have to kill them when I return. It is not so bad."

This abject frustration was much easier to deal with than the faded traces of guilt and shame she felt when reflecting on any other thoughts. It garbled her mind. "Well, thank you for your show of loyalty, but you really must be going now. I don't have the resources to support any more companions."

"Oh-ho, so there are more? Can I at least meet them?"

She gave him a fiery look. "No. It's just me. Now, go."

"But, milady, we have just met, and after so long apart!" He gave her his best pout. "Do not send me away so soon."

She waved him off and turned around. "No. It's time for you to go."

His shoulders sagged. "Lady Cousland…"

"Just GO!" she yelled, whirling on him. "You can't stay here! You need to leave! Now!"

Her voice was strong, but tinged with hurt. He could tell she had dismissed many a friend in recent times, and this was truly paining her. He wondered if he had made a mistake in coming to her…

"Please, Zev."

The invocation of his nickname warmed his heart. "Lady Jenna, you cannot possibly expect me to abandon you in a time of need."

"I'm not in need."

"Of me, I do not doubt. Of others…I must dispute."

She sat down on a nearby log and took a couple deep breaths. "How did you find me?"

"I followed your trail. That marvelous scream a while ago was the starter, but the deer's blood and kaddis in the river gave you away." He looked off to the ruins in the distance. "I must ask, why did you dismiss Axel to Redcliffe? Are you aware Ostagar is completely overrun with darkspawn?"

Horror pervaded her features at the realization of it. She jumped to her feet and sprinted a couple yards into the field. She strained to find any movement on the horizon, barring the waving grass, but there was none.

_Oh, please, Maker…_

She melted to her knees, laughing. "I've sent him to his death. What a fool," she mumbled. "My last friend on this wild, wild _thing_…"

"Which brings me to a very interesting question," Zevran continued, trying not to drawl. "What is this… _thing_ of a quest you are embarking on?"

"I can't tell you," she retorted, fast enough to make anyone suspicious. After a long sigh and another moment to gather her thoughts, she said, "Even_ I'm_ not sure."

"Is it as I suspect?"

She raised her head. "What do you suspect?"

There was a certain fluidity in his movements as he walked over to her, squatting before her. "The taint…perhaps it is calling for you?"

She wanted to laugh in his face for being so simple. It was amazing how much people were willing to let a Grey Warden chalk up to the mysterious and frightening 'taint'. It did give her nightmares and a permanent restlessness, knowing that the blight was over but there were still _things_ out there that begged for her blade, but it was not something that consumed her conscious self. Those not of the Order seemed to think differently.

There was an easy answer, but Zevran was her friend, and he had been so even when times were hard. Still, some measure of precaution must be taken.

"I don't know," she said, barely a whisper. "Morrigan promised me answers. So far…nothing."

He sat down next to her, leaning forward on his knees. "Did she tell you to get rid of your dear pet?"

She shook her head. "It's all part of some sort of plan the two of us have planned, only we both know one half each, and neither is telling the other about the half they know about. We're operating in the dark," she admitted, "and I'm not even sure if she'll come to find me again…"

He looked puzzled. "Part of a plan? A plan for what?"

She sighed loudly and tried to think of a way to phrase things so that she didn't come off as completely mental. "Morrigan found me in the Fade last night and took me to…to _his_ dream," she said in a very measured tone. "There, I convinced him to go back to the capital by…"

She fought the tears so hard, she felt an urge to sneeze. "I told him I was dead, and that's why I was able to see him in the Fade."

Zevran took it all in slowly, and could see why she was frustrated at the missing pieces. She was in some sort of crisis that she had convinced herself only Morrigan knew the way out of, yet she let Morrigan persuade her to sever all ties with her beloved husband in the name of practicality. Jenna was more emotion than reason when it came to dealing with people. This was obviously a play from without her books.

She did manage to tie off a loose end to marginally simplify things. "Are you aware that Anora has taken control of the capital?"

He expected Jenna to be distraught but she merely shrugged in affirmation. "I'm not surprised. I suspected he would be a dolt and just leave the city without thinking, which of course would open Anora up to any number of plots for the throne. I'm guessing Eamon is holding her off?"

"Perhaps. All I know is that she hasn't taken full control just yet, but she did order Castle Cousland searched from stone to sand, which angered the nobles close to your brother—"

"Good. Fergus knows better than to let her snivel around in front of everyone." She huffed in false laughter. "How stupid is she, thinking I'd go to the Castle after disappearing? And if I did, Fergus would cover up for me until I convinced him things were different."

"Forgive me for saying this, your Majesty—" that elicited a snide wave of her hand at the title—"but Anora is not a bad leader. It is only her ambition to become queen that makes her dangerous."

"I agree with you wholeheartedly," she said, "and right now, neither one of us are being even decent monarchs. Hopefully he'll get back to Denerim and set things straight."

"Why not you?"

She stood up slowly, a sad smile gracing her lips. "Because he still has time. I, however…"

She turned to catch Zevran's eyes. "I'm about out."

* * *

_Next chapter may take a while. I'll be on vacation. _

_Wishing you all a happy holidays-thanks for reading!_

_-L_


	9. The Meeting

**ARCANUM – littlefishh**

**Chapter 9: The Meeting**

_To my awesome readers—we are two chapters from finding out Jenna's big secret! I'm interested to hear what you guys think it is, so drop me a review with your guess._

_Also, how likely do you think Jenna will stay with Alistair? Is there a bigger chance she might resume her relationship with Zevran, or at the very least succumb to his…say, advances?_

_Love hearing form you all!_

_

* * *

_

Fergus Cousland did not take the news of his sister's unexpected departure well. He was disappointed, but he wasn't at all surprised.

Jenna had a lot of faults and, as her brother, he knew them all. She was unnaturally stubborn, past the point of being helpful, she was very confrontational and could occasionally bully those who didn't see her point of view, but most of all, she hated saying sorry. He had seen her boil herself in lies and do things she didn't really believe in all to avoid an apology, or even an admission of her mistake. It cost her a dear friend in her younger days and, even though she never forgot it, she still didn't change.

Fergus prayed to the Maker that she hadn't done the same with her husband. He feared scandal—the last thing the Cousland family needed right now—which sadly was not beyond his sister's ability. She started a fair amount of it when she executed Loghain for war crimes, but at least there were public doubts about his loyalty. But Alistair…everyone was madly in love with him for being a fair and modest king, not to mention his sacrifices during the war as a Grey Warden. To be fair, the people loved Jenna just as much, if not more, since it was she who led her troops to the far reaches of the nation to rally support, and put a solid Therein king back on the throne. She took the final blow on the achedemon—something that rang endlessly in his dreams—and she had one of the words most famous love stories with Ferelden's bastard king.

Fergus hoped she hadn't ruined it all with some fling on the side that, once exposed, would force her to run away from another apology. With Antivans in the capital when she left, Fergus swore that elf Zevran had something to do with it, be it as a consort or assassin, and neither were good to hope for.

He had just finished another poor hunting tour. His mind was on his sister, as it had been the past two months, as he couldn't shoot properly with it weighing down on him. He took the walk from the stables to the main Castle alone, with no pheasants or quails to show for his being gone all day. The cook would probably tease him for not bringing home any meat, and it would once again be Orlesian potato stew for dinner.

Oriana and the captain of the guard were waiting for him at the side gate. For a second, he thought they came bearing news of Jenna's death, but Oriana had a small grin on her face, and the captain was in his leather under armors, signifying he had been woken up from his daily nap.

She curtsied and he bowed upon his approach, and the captain turned to escort them back in the Castle. Oriana's eyes sparkled. "We have visitors, my Lord,"

Before he could ask who, the captain swung open the foyer doors, and there, standing in travelling armor, was the King of Ferelden, His Majesty Alistair Theirin.

Fergus fell to his knees in a bow, but he had come across the painted tiles and was pulling him to his feet, saying, "No, no, no, none of the kingly bowing bits to family, please…"

Fergus shook his hand, grip strong, and had Oriana call for tea. He greeted the rest of the king's companions individually, even accepting a hug from Leliana, but knowing better than to request more than a head nod of acknowledgement from the qunari. When the tea came out—a hot, spicy Antivan blend, one of his wife's favourites—they all arranged themselves around the fire and drank in silence.

Finally, Wynne spoke. "Your lordship, ser, one of our companions couldn't make it up the stairs. She is sitting at the guards tower for now." Wynne sipped from her cup once more. "She is a golem, so she doesn't require much."

Fergus nodded, then turned to the king. "Under easier times, a celebration would be due occasion for your presence here, but I suspect you have come in search of your wife." Fergus put down his cup and tray. "Unfortunately, I haven't heard hide nor hair of her in two months, our last correspondence being by letter."

Alistair smiled weakly. "We aren't looking for her anymore, ser," he said, voice stern. After a deep breath and a moment exchanging glances with his comrades, he turned back to Fergus. "We have reasonable evidence to assume she is…dead."

It was as he feared. Somehow hearing that it was true felt different than imagining it. It was a total empty hunger, in part for understanding but also for solace.

Oriana heard the news in the door as she was bringing the trays to the kitchens and froze, kettle and cups teetering in her shaking grasp. Despite the noise, everyone was still in their own cultivated silence. Thoughts held their otherwise vacant faces.

Sten was the first to raise his cup, grasping it around the center instead of the handle. In a solemn voice, he said, "To the _kadan_. For safekeeping in the beyond."

They all did the same and grunted in reply, drinking without tasting.

Fergus coughed and set his drink aside. "Might I inquire as to the nature of this evidence?"

"She came to me in a dream, through the Fade," Alistair choked out. "She was called to the Deep Roads to fight the darkspawn, as all Grey Wardens are destined to."

"But so soon?" Oriana gasped, putting a hand to her breast and taking her husband's own as she sat. "She was so young, even for a Grey Warden…many last well into their forties!"

"We suspect it may have something to do with her killing the archdemon," Wynne said, voice barely a whisper. "The taint may have intensified as its life force passed through her."

"She should have died then," Alistair said. "A Grey Warden must sacrifice himself—or herself, in this case—to kill an archdemon. We weren't told until the eve of battle."

"Riordan knew…?"

The king nodded. "I tried to persuade her to let me take the killing blow, but she wouldn't let me. It was something she wanted to finish. For good. After all the grief she'd been through by Howe, it was something we all owed her for closure."

He sounded like he was trying to convince himself that what he said was true, but there was a cloudy emptiness in his eyes. Fergus knew that look well—it was the hallmark of those plagued by the choice between duty and their emotions.

It was despair in its purest form, the kind that put holes in the soul that could never be filled.

Despite the aching glow of sadness in his face, the king turned to Fergus. His actions were mechanical; there was no feeling behind them anymore. "We've come to you to ask for Highever's support in returning to the capital. Anora has become quite comfortable leading there, and going to Denerim without back up would not be the wisest thing to do in a time like this."

"Of course, you have my support, your Majesty," Fergus spat, as if it were obvious enough to be offensive. "There wouldn't be a chance in the world Highever and all it stands for wouldn't do all in our power to see the rightful king restored. We can march on the morrow, if that is your intention."

Alistair squeezed the teryn's forearm. "Thank you, Fergus. Despite what has happened to our dear lady, I still consider you family to the throne. Know that you and yours will always be welcome in Denerim."

Fergus shook his hand reassuringly. "I am proud to call you a brother, ser."

* * *

Jenna had never been so thankful for Zevran's company in her life.

He brought laughter back into her daily routine of silent sulking. He could make a joke about everything, and he ran his mouth constantly. Even though some of it was simply to hear himself talk, Jenna liked to hear another human voice, especially one she thought of fondly. She always thought his voice was smooth but tangy, like a cool drink of spiced rum on a hot day. She was afraid she would pick up his accent after not hearing a Ferelden voice in such a long time.

She was still wary of the terms on which they last parted. He had come to the wedding and left the next morning and, had she not been preparing to move troops back to Redcliffe and ran into him at the stables, would have gone wordlessly if he had his way.

"Ah, Your Majesty, I did not want to keep you from a long-deserved honeymoon with your husband," he had crooned. "I mean to return to my homeland and whatever beautiful opportunities and consequences await me there."

She fervently offered him refuge of royal quality anywhere in Ferelden, but she could see the iron in his eyes. "My Lady, I would not want to overstay my welcome, which I fear I have already done. Life is a wind I follow mercilessly."

They embraced, and she watched the shine off his lone earring as he rode off, bound for Amaranthine to catch a ship to Antiva. She felt empty once he left; just knowing he wouldn't be there when she called was odd. He had been with her for such a long and unpleasant time, and she was very much looking forward to spending happier days with him at her side, like always.

He was in the middle of a story about one of his more recent marks when she said, "Why did you try to leave? Without me knowing?"

He was taken somewhat aback, less so for being interrupted but for the context of the question. "I believe I told you so when you saw me—I did not want to disturb you on your honeymoon. Had I needed to leave whilst you were away… I feel it would be the same as leaving without your notice."

She stared at him blankly. "There wasn't anything to interrupt."

He chuckled. "Oho, not much action from our dear Templar, I see?"

She narrowed her eyes, nose crinkling. "No. We didn't take a honeymoon."

Zevran feigned a more dramatic gasp than he meant. "The lovebirds denied a vacation? What is the world coming to?"

She shrugged. "We had too much work to do, with the war ending and the Grey Wardens taking Amaranthine, and the Circle trying to shake off the Chantry, not to mention Ferelden having new monarchs and whatnot. We wouldn't have been able to enjoy it, knowing how much there needed to be done."

"But surely you plan to take one in the future?"

She gave him a sour look. "Zevran, I don't even know if I'm going to come back from this. Don't make me think about things like that."

His expression was hard to read. "You are uncertain about your own life?"

"Maybe not my life, but certainly whether or not I'll be returning to life in the palace."

"And what do you expect Morrigan to tell you?"

She didn't know. It was all over her face, but she marched on. The elf sighed. "This is all very unlike you, my friend. You have never been one to run away from what you are called to do, no matter how difficult, and I do not recall your reluctance to, as you Fereldens say, _tell it like it is_. I'm sure you can imagine why I am suspicious."

"I know, and I don't have answers for anyone, myself included," she said crossly. "And you still haven't explained how you found me, which is equally suspicious."

"Again I have already told you, I followed your trail through the Wilds—"

"You knew I was looking for Morrigan," she said. "You weren't surprised when I mentioned her."

"Surprise is not something I associate with Morrigan," Zevran said, his mouth souring at her name. "Perhaps darkspawn dung with purple lipstick, but not surprise." He saw Jenna's expression of frustration at his obvious dodge, so he steepled his fingers and looked her hard in the eyes. "Word of your disappearance reached us in Antiva, and it was only a matter of time before envoys were sent to 'account' for you. I skipped the bidding to find you myself, and I figured you would be fleeing in the opposite direction of Highever, which would put you on the road through the Wilds. That direction only leaves you to a suicide road to nowhere, or to Leliana or Morrigan."

"And why did you eliminate Leli?"

Zevran tried not to choke at the nickname. "Morrigan disappeared herself after the war. I figured she had returned to the Wilds to become whatever power her mother was, and that you had disappeared in a similar fashion with different intentions. Logically, it pointed to the two of you being together. Obviously, I am wrong, as you are with me instead of our dear witch friend."

Jenna had to acknowledge that. "You're not wrong. Morrigan was last spotted in the Frostbacks, but she told me to meet her in the Wilds." She scuffled her feet in the dust. "She'll come to me in time. I suppose I should spend the rest trying to determine why you came to find me."

"If you are alluding to an attempt to kill you, you would be half right and half wrong," he replied. "Right in that there are Crows who want you dead, but wrong because I am not one of them."

"And why is that?"

"Because I am not in the business of killing monarchs to start wars," he said flatly.

Jenna huffed to herself. "And here I was, thinking you had come to kill me…so why are you here then?"

Zevran tried his best to appear mysterious, but his face betrayed him. He sighed. "I do not know. I had every intention to kill you once I left Antiva. But the hunt for prey became a search for a friend."

Jenna could see both honesty and confusion in his eyes. It was unsettling, knowing that he couldn't decide whether or not to kill her, and would put her on edge should they continue travelling together.

She straightened her dirty blouse beneath her leathers, and said, "Just be aware that, if you change your mind and decide to try to kill me, I will try to kill you right back."

His smile returned. "Agreed, my lady."

* * *

_Please let me know what you guys are thinking! Love hearing from you, and Happy New Years!_

_-L_


	10. The Biding

**ARCANUM – littlefishh**

**Chapter 10: The Biding**

Zevran was getting in the way.

Morrigan wished the Wilds would claim him, but the pair of them were much too powerful. Jenna could fell a bear at twenty paces with a clever fling of her sword, and Zevran was careful to do the appropriate spice tests on the plant life around them to check for poison. However, there was distrust between them—Jenna wouldn't eat any food he attempted to give her, and both of them slept with their weapons beneath their bedrolls—and it was disrupting Jenna's dreams. She would only stay in certain parts of the Fade for uncertain amounts of time. It was impossible to reach her.

Morrigan hoped they would betray each other, but it was very unlikely. Jenna liked the company, and Zevran knew he was overpowered, emotionally and physically. Something needed to happen and it needed to happen soon, before the third month finished, or it could be too late.

* * *

Leliana found herself once again wearing Ferelden battle regalia marching on the capital, and she hoped there wouldn't be much more of this, lest the king die of a broken heart and that trick of a woman Anora start running the country. Her father was surely rolling in his grave for his paranoia of an Orlesian invasion, as having a lone queen as ruler with the country in civil war would be practically asking for dishonorable neighbours to do something sinister.

That was, Leliana was sure, exactly what the Antivan Crows wanted. No doubt the emissaries were assassins sent to dispatch Queen Jenna to trigger Anora's bid for the throne and weaken King Alistair's power, which would once again make the city vulnerable. The Orlesians wanted to dismantle the Circle Tower by order of the federal Chantry, and the Antivans wear eager to see the fledgling fortress of the Grey Wardens at Amaranthine fall. Ferelden would be the first nation in Thedas to die by murder since the Imperium.

This is why Leliana backed Alistair for the throne, not because she believed in Ferelden, but because Thedas needed Ferelden. The Grey Wardens and the mages were housed here and, despite their power, still needed the support from the national army to train and prosper. Without them, the whole world would be changed, surely for the worst. The extinction of either one would spell doom for all.

Alistair was not far from being a ruined man, but he had a sense of duty that seeped through the pieces of his broken heart. Leliana knew how much he had resented being king and that having Jenna at his side made the load easier to bear. Now, with her gone, he would not only have to cope with her loss, but eventually replace her to find a successor. It was something no one wanted to see, including the people of Ferelden, who were as much in love with the royal couple as the two of them were with each other. It was a love story born from times of despair, a rose amongst the ashes.

Leliana kept this in mind as she fell in line beside the king. Fergus Cousland was at his flank, while the rest of their party rode up the middle and forward, scouting.

Fergus, too, was devastated. So much of his family had been lost to the war and his sister had been through it all, even avenging their parents' deaths in killing Howe. He bore the Cousland coat of arms and a pearl white sash, the symbol of a noble lady, in his sister's memory. It was a funeral march disguised as the king's return to the capital.

Alistair was as hollow as an ancient tree but he still spoke when addressed. He had not yet lapsed completely into hopelessness, and Leliana imagined he would liven up should Anora attempt a coup. Even so, it was just the calm before the storm. Despair would come in time.

She eyed him as he rode, not even bothering to post to his horse's trot. He seemed vacant, just a suit of armor on a horse. Suddenly, he jerked awake, and pulled everyone to a full stop.

In the clearing before them was a small force of archers and footmen, headed by a soldier splashed in Denerim's crest. The little brigade was pointed in the Highever army's direction and, once Alistair ordered the stop, they approached.

The captain bowed has he drew closer and presented Alistair with a bound scroll. "Greetings, ser. We are with the palace at Denerim and regretfully must extend this writ of disarmament to you on behalf of her royal Majesty, Queen Anora Mac Tir."

Alistair scoffed as he read the letter. "Well, what happens on the occasion I should choose to disregard this writ?"

The captain's face was nervous, eyes shifting around to size up the army. "Um, well, you would be placed under formal arrest and taken to Fort Drakon to await trial."

The king's eyebrows went up at the thought. "And you lot are going to arrest all of us?"

The captain was visibly sweating now. "Um, yes. Yes, ser."

Alistair tried to keep from bursting out laughing. "And, assuming we don't come quietly, you will have to use violence?"

The captain was wringing his steel-covered hands and standing taller to keep his knees from trembling. "Well, presumably, yes."

The Highever troops were exchanging humoured glances and craning to see the king's reaction, wondering if it was okay to laugh aloud. Fergus Cousland shot Leliana a wink, and she couldn't help but smile at how silly this situation was becoming.

After a long moment of uneasy silence, Alistair announced, "All right then, I've thought it over and we will not be coming quietly, and I hereby give permission for my troops to reciprocate said violence, should you be forced to use it."

The captain took a few steps back and put his hands up in front of him. "Well, that is most unfortunate, um…."

One of the archers behind him piped up, "Hey, he doesn't really look like the king, does he? Perhaps we got the wrong guy?"

"Yeah, I always thought the king had a darker face, smaller shoulders," another said. "Sure don't look like the guy on the gold piece."

The captain turned to look up at Alistair with a look of panic on his face. "Oh, well, Maker be damned, we did make a mistake! How very sorry we are! Now if I could just have that writ back, yes, thank you… come to think of it, there was word the king was in Redcliffe, off we go then…"

The captain took a clumsy set of backwards steps before forcing himself to stand upright and bow. Alistair gave him a wave of his gauntleted hand before the poor man shooed his troops off and down the nearest side road.

All was still and silent, save for the ambient rustling of mail and the horses' hooves sifting through the dirt. Then Alistair threw his head back and laughed a full, deep, armor-clattering cackle that winked stars of joy through Leliana's eyes as he struggled to breathe.

The troops caught on after that, and soon the whole army was shaking with laughter that seemed to lift the pall of loss following them from Highever. Leliana let a smile catch her—any more and she would be fooling herself into thinking he might get better.

Alistair motioned for the army to move on, and the laughter gave way to friendly chatter. Fergus spurred his horse to catch up with the king and crossed their reins. "How about that—_her Majesty, Queen Anora Mac Tir_."

Alistair's smile faded fast. "I hope she hasn't squelched counter support too violently…"

"I fear for the Arl of Redcliffe," Fergus replied. "He had been holding out for you, spearheading the resistance both in court and with the populace."

"Eamon is fine, if there ever was a doubt. He is probably tired of being hassled, no more."

"We can hope that she is Queen in title only," Leliana said. "Anything more would imply a coronation. And to be formally crowned queen means—"

The look in Fergus' eyes was enough. After a moment of silence, he looked away, back to the road. "Do not think that we Couslands feel entitled to the throne, your Majesty." There was a sharpness in his tone. "We know a true monarch when we find one. And we shall see you through."

* * *

Taliesin was furious—Alistair was returning the capital.

His scout was still breathless from the run. "Highever's army has been spotted crossing the Hafter, the herald said." His hands were covered in blood and dirt from his takedown. "Herald was on his way to Redcliffe to request the arl's help."

"We should have forseen this," his accomplice said, spitting angrily. "Of course he wouldn't return without an army, especially after getting word of Anora-"

"We didn't have the manpower to get the herald to Highever when they sent the news," Taliesin replied. "We have other objectives that take precedence, you know that."

"Why is he returning?" The scout squinted through the beds of sweat on his cheeks. "Is she dead? Queen Jennalin's dead?"

"He has Highever's army at his back, you think her own brother would pledge him an army after his sister 'mysteriously' disappears?" The assassin's hand curled over his knife. "Was she riding among them? Even with the sick?"

"Only woman on a horse in sight was a red-haired lady, Orlesian based on the accent," he replied. "King looked the part as if she were dead."

"Then how does a heartbroken king convince his dead wife's brother to back him for the throne, huh?"

"Perhaps not dead, then" Taliesin chimed in. "Perhaps… other things."

Both of his subordinates stared back blankly. He steepled his fingers. "Perhaps the King found her, but he found her with someone—someone we have a vested interest in. This makes her an adulterous traitor to the crown, forcing her brother to back the King to restore his family's honor. Or another, perhaps he finds her dead, as you seem to think, at someone's hands. A murdered queen—her brother would surely pay tribute to her memory by endorsing her widower's bid to the throne." His eyes narrowed as his train of thought raced against his words. "Both amount to the same thing: she is with our target. But the true question becomes… has he killed her? Or taken her?"

The scales for such things were far from reeling.

* * *

In the small hours of the night, Jenna woke.

She woke suddenly but was still, eyes flying open to watch the last embers of the fire turn to smoke in the moonlight. A warm hand was on her arm, outside the blankets.

"Come."

She closed her eyes. "He will hear."

There was a pickup in the wind and the muted sound of words muttered under the breath. "All is silent. Come."

She drew herself to her feet, wrapping the blanket from her pallet around her. She stuffed her feet into her boots, following the eyes suspended in the forest darkness. They were a purple so deep and rich that it could only be—

"Morrigan?"

The hand led her into a clearing, and sure enough, the witch of Wilds came into view. Jenna rushed forward to hug her. Morrigan's arms closed over her back. "Jenna. My friend."

Jenna didn't feel the biting urge to cry, much to her own surprise. Her curiosity seemed muted too. "This isn't the Fade. We're in the Wilds—I thought you had left for the Frostbacks?"

"I had plans to find haven in the old Imperium," she said, "but they would not have taken me without the child."

Jenna's hand fell to her swelling stomach. "It's true, then? As I thought… the ritual…" She drew the Maker's circle on her chest. "The ritual failed us…"

"The ritual worked," Morrigan corrected. "It worked perfectly."

Jenna gave her a look of surprise mixed with disgust. "How?"

"You were already pregnant with his child—I relied too much on the impotence of the taint and it failed me. When you slew the archdemon, the soul passed within you. It is still there, Jenna." Morrigan patted her own flat stomach. "Nothing happened that night on the eve of battle beyond the physical frustrations of your king above me—"she twitched her nose in disgust-"which is for the best, given this situation. I do not want to be saddled with a bastard of Ferelden, brother to an Old God."

"An Old God…" Jenna was breathless. "An archdemon…"

"That is what Old Gods become when the taint corrupts them," Morrigan cautioned.

"But I carry the taint within me, as I have from the moment of my Joining."

"Your compliance keeps it in check."

Jenna thunked down on the forest floor, leaves stirring around her. "I will give flesh to an Old God… what will happen?"

Morrigan joined her, sweeping herself elegantly into a kneel. "That is what I intended to answer—alone, in the Tevinter ruins." She shredded some grass between her knees. "I had hoped to raise a being of the Maker's potency apart from the tyranny of the Chantry. I wanted to see the truth of godhood in flesh, instead of through the stained glass the Chantry veils the world in."

"Is that the true nature of this? An Old God with a human body, the Maker come to ground?"

Morrigan braced herself, closing her eyes. "The Chantry may see this as such. It could be viewed as an enormous holy event."

"The second coming of the Maker, the reincarnation of Andraste—"

"The Chantry will say anything to justify their beliefs," Morrigan said with a scowl. "Don't think they will welcome you as the host of their Maker; in fact, they might execute you as a heretic and apostate, carrying a demon you and I call an 'Old God' in your own body—"

"But what if they are right?" That seemed to quiet the witch. Jenna squeezed her hand. "What if it is still an archdemon? Or what if it is Andraste or an avatar of the Maker?"

"You slew the taint that was the archdemon and released the God, who took the body of your unborn child, so it is not an archdemon." She looked away. "As for the other options, I cannot speak definitively."

"Does it speak to you?" Jenna's eyes were their usually green, the bright olive of her family's crest wreathed in brown lashes, but they brimmed with questions. "In the Fade? How else could you find me?"

"I have lived in these Wilds a long time," she replied, but acknowledged, "though yes, I hear it calling. But I never follow—the voice doesn't echo from the same place as your dreams." Her expression was grim. "It hails from the Black City, and even I know better than to tread on dark sand."

"We have to," Jenna said suddenly. Her tone was short but firm. "That's the only place we will find any answers, Morrigan. Unless you want to join me in my aimlessness. Or leave me again."

"This burden is yours to bear, Jenna, even if I had not done the ritual, this still would have happened—"

"And I _still_ would have sought you out, as I am doing now," she spat back. "I only said goodbye to you because I had to!"

Morrigan was taken aback by her words, and Jenna leaned in closer, clasping their hands. "We have no choice! I can't let the world fall to ruin whilst I purposefully go in circles here, waiting for fate to come to me. Please, Morrigan, take up with me one more time, and let's meet the end at the beginning—and get some answers for all of this!"

Morrigan shook her hands free. "You don't know what you're asking, Jenna—the Black City is not a place you can simply go to—"

"Then we'll find it."

"Mortals in the Black City—even my mother would sigh at that!" Morrigan pulled a foot out to stand up. "Your passion is admirable, my lady, but it simply—"

"Old Gods taught the mages of the Imperium magic, blood magic even," Jenna said. "It was the Old Gods who spurred the magisters to take the Black City, was it not?"

"So the Chantry says," Morrigan responded, frowning.

"Then it knows the way."

"It isn't screaming directions at me in the Fade, Jenna."

"What does it say?"

She shrugged, cheeks pinking. "I don't really know. I haven't stopped to listen."

Jenna uncrossed her arms. "We should find out. Take me in to the Fade."

Morrigan shook her head. "Not now. But at night. When you sleep, I will find you, and we will listen." She stepped back, her legs melting in to the shadows. "You must start towards Amaranthine, I can explain why later—"

"Why are you leaving so quickly?" Jenna followed her for a few steps, but the darkness had claimed her.

"The silence is breaking," but it was just a whisper on the wind.


End file.
